


Ghost in the Machine (working title)

by Texas_not_Tex



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Gen, I did this for nanowrimo and now it's out of control god help me, M/M, PARAGON LOST ISN'T CANON, There's Foul Mouths Ahead, and blood, but no sex! so yall safe, strap in kiddos this is gonna be a long ride
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-09-03 18:54:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 38,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8726305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Texas_not_Tex/pseuds/Texas_not_Tex
Summary: (WARNING: contains major spoilers for all three Mass Effect games. Read at your own risk!)It's been three years since Commander Shepard vanished after saving the galaxy from the Reaper threat. His actions, and what became of him, are still shrouded in mystery, but he is presumed dead.Garrus Vakarian has a difficult time moving on from his friend(or more?)'s apparent demise. His struggles are only intensified when he starts noticing mysterious messages, seemingly left just for him...in words that no one but the deceased Commander would know.The quest for truth leads our heroes again across the galaxy...battling pirates, lies, an old foe revived and the spectre of madness itself!!!1!!!(Game Background: Paragon route, Vanguard Shepard, Council saved, everyone survives [exc. Mordin, Anderson, Thane and Ashley.], Kaidan saved, Morinth killed, genophage cured, Geth and Quarian peace acheived, NO dlc except the extended ending.)





	1. The End

**Author's Note:**

> Holy hell this thing just keeps getting longer!  
> I'm writing just for fun, so if you offer critique, which you are welcome to, please be gentle. I have a fragile ego.  
> Like many people, I didn't really feel satisfied by the way ME3 ended--and like many people, I was a little miffed that I couldn't romance my favorite space hunk, Garrus Vakarian, in-game as a male shep. This story is my answer to this dissatisfaction.
> 
> If you are here, and read any of this, thank you. It's been a labor of love, and it ain't over yet!
> 
> ALSO This is primarily unedited. Hopefully I'll have the patience someday to go through and clean it up. First draft....final draft.....right?

Garrus didn’t really mourn Shepard until three years past that fateful day in London.  
He’d been dead that long before, after all. It didn’t really seem real. When Garrus had been forced to evac on the Normandy, dragging a wounded Tali’zorah, Shepard had told them both: he’d be back. He’d done it before. He’d do it again.  
But as the third year came to an end, Garrus was forced to realize that his friend was not going to return.

The Turian was again stationed on the Citadel when this revelation came to him. Of course, immediately following the still-mysterious resolution of the Reaper War, he’d returned to Palaven; hoping to find his father and sister, and to begin the work to restore his home-planet after its fiery devastation. He’d found chaos there, and to his great relief, his his family. Solana was doing fine, a broken leg acquired during the war healing up nicely. And his father—well. He was the same as he ever was. For a little over a year, it felt pretty good to be home. Eventually, the old tensions between him and his father acted up. Of course, he was grateful to his father for his trust in him during the war, and his father was proud of the role he played. But even with this newfound respect for one another, their natural difference in dispositions and an unsettling restlessness on Garrus’s part led him to change things up and move to the Citadel again, working in a less-than-official capacity for c-sec. Something he didn’t think he’d ever do again, not after last time. But, Spirits, they needed him. 

Even so long after the disaster, the shockwaves were still being felt galaxy-wide. The Citadel, the hub of galactic travel, commerce, and government, was choked and sprawling with crime and lost refugees. The remainder of the Batarian civilization in particular had been causing trouble—some sort of desperate last ditch rebellion-- and there was always someone who needed to be apprehended. Or taken down with some other form of justice.  
To be honest, the “other” was still frequently Garrus’s favorite, despite still feeling the heavy sway of Shepard’s idealism. He did find himself making a few more generous decisions then perhaps would be usual. But…only a few. 

But the third anniversary of the battle of London hit him hard. A bottle of amino-appropriate whisky and skipping out of work hard. He wasn’t sure whether this time around was worse—losing his friend a second time. He wished that he had someone to talk to about this, someone who’d known the man as he had. But there was no one, not that he could get in contact with. On the Citadel, Bailey was still up and kickin’, but honestly he was no one’s first choice for a heart-to-heart of any sort. Off the citadel, his choices were scarcely less limited. Anderson was dead. The crew of the Normandy was spread to the winds, and in most cases, still incredibly difficult to get ahold of. Most mass-relays had been repaired by the suddenly benign Reapers, but not everything was yet back the way it was.  
He would have preferred to talk to Tali, Or Kaidan. Neither were an option. Kaidan was wherever the Council or Alliance needed him, busy with his new responsibilities as a Spectre and Garrus hadn’t spoken to him since they’d got off of the planet that the Normandy had emergency-landed on. They used to be pretty close, though. And Tali was on Rannoch, rebuilding her homeworld and fighting hard to keep the uneasy peace between the Quarians and Geth that Shepard himself had so strongly advocated for. Garrus did hear from her, occasionally. Things seemed to be going all right. But here, and now, he was alone, and nothing really seemed to be going well, at all.

He kept living, of course. Or, rather, he kept going through the motions of his life. Going about his duties. What choice did he have? It hurt, but he had to keep moving. Shepard was gone, but the galaxy still needed Garrus, and he was determined to keep his friend’s legacy alive.  
He had coffee with that doctor, Chloe Michel, sometimes. Well. She had coffee. Supplies were still limited for Turian and Quarian diets, and it was primarily the necessities that made it into circulation. Still, it was nice to get out and see someone familiar. It was easy, it was relaxing. He didn’t talk to her about Shepard, though. She’d still nab him Quarian chocolates when she could find them—which was almost never, now. But he appreciated the gesture.

It was slow, but in the weeks and months that followed that third anniversary, Garrus started to recover. He didn’t lose himself as he had last time, on Omega. He still thought of his dead friend every damn day, but he functioned. He even laughed sometimes. Started to follow the news again. That reporter, Allers, was a big shot now; she seemed to be on every time he looked at the feeds. Made him a little uncomfortable at first, seeing someone who’d been there, who’d spoken to Shepard, lived on the ship with them. But he toughed it out. She didn’t bother him at all, now. That’s what he told himself, anyway.


	2. Old News and New News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> note to self: needs revising. Destroyer? Alt source for rumor? Inconsistent.

About an hour and a half (as earth time goes) after Garrus last saw Shepard on Earth, the war was over. The Reapers, and all their creations, retreated silently into space. A few were destroyed without retaliation by vengeful fleets, before the remaining Reapers fled, towing along their decimated bretheren. A few weeks later, several returned to the Local Cluster and transported the Citadel to what appeared to be exactly its former position, and then retreated again.   
Before this re-positioning, Alliance forces had boarded the Citadel, seeking the cause of this mysterious cessation of hostilities. The bodies of David Anderson and the ever-elusive Illusive Man were recovered, as well as countless human corpses. The body of Commander Shepard was never found. Only a trail of blood indicated that he had been there at all. Teams searched and studied the structure relentlessly, but there was nothing else.   
As each race began the long and painful task of rebuilding, the ghostly Reapers slowly and steadily repaired the mass relays. As each was finished, something…odd began occurring. Rather than simply retreating to the empty edges of space, the Reapers began to disassemble themselves, seemingly at random. The remaining intact ones would dispose of their inoperative brethren by dragging them to the center of the galaxy and allowing the black hole there to do its work. There were fewer of them every day, it seemed. Despite efforts to capture or destroy these remaining ships, they were elusive. Despite the destruction and disassembles, a small fleet must be hiding out there in the black now. This idea still made everyone fairly uncomfortable.

There were rumors of a downed Reaper destroyer, still having power, on Thessia. Rumors that this behemoth had spoken in great, fractured, vibrating tones, relaying the message that somehow Commander Shepard had seized control of the Reaper army. It was soon after spirited away, like all the other downed ships, by silent Reaper scouts. They were of course fired upon, but did not return the volleys, simply disappearing into space before enough damage could be done. The council flatly denied the rumor, and the flow of information was still so spotty that certainty was pretty hard to come by in unofficial reports. Garrus didn’t believe it, either. Such an act would have been against the strong morals of the man he knew. Control was the Illusive Man’s game. Shepard would never have agreed to end the conflict on such terms—there must be another explanation. 

Garrus followed a few stories pretty closely. His laptop’s homepage was set to a Turian news site, of course; but he also kept close tabs on the ongoing Batarian conflict as well as an eye on the Krogan. Though he fully trusted the man, he’d never been too sure about Shepard’s decision to cure the genophage. Not to be stereotypical, but he still didn’t trust the Krogan not to make the same mistakes twice. It would be devastatingly depressing if they were to save the galaxy from an eternal cycle of extinction just to have it overwhelmed by an overly-amorous plague of belligerent reptiles. But, to his relief, all reports from Tuchanka were on the positive end of the spectrum. It seemed as though the newly-empowered Krogan female population was mitigating the traditionally destructive and expansionist mindset of their male counterparts. Eve—or whatever her name was—was in the forefront of this movement, along with Wrex, of course. Garrus liked Eve. She was powerful, intelligent, and determined. Just what the new Krogan empire needed. Under her leadership alongside Wrex, the clans were more unified than ever. Ideas such as reproductive rights, preservation of archeological heritage, and heaven forbid, ecological responsibility were now in circulation in their society. It was a tenuous balance, to be sure. No rule can last forever, and it was obvious that there was still a great deal of unrest. A large percentage of Krogan still advocated their rapid propagation across the galaxy, spurred on by the memory of the not-insignificant casualties incurred during the war. And, of course, the population on Tuchanka and other significant colonies had exploded. Still, Garrus felt slightly hopeful that they were on an upwards bent. He even joked to Chloe that he reckoned there’d be a (probably female) Krogan ambassador on the Citadel before too long. He was, of course, entirely kidding.

The Batarian uprising was of particular concern to Garrus. It factored into his job on the Citadel quite often, and he kept a close eye on any developments or rumors spread on the Extranet. Well, he only considers it a “job” in the loosest sense of the term: He was paid for a service, and yes, the paycheck came from c-sec, but it was by no means an official position. He was…an independent contractor. They needed the help, but couldn’t spare the resources to regulate how he did his business. It worked for him. 

Since their home planet had been all but destroyed by the Reaper invasion, Batarians had become somewhat of a rarefied species. The remainder of their fleet was heavily damaged in the battle of Earth, and all that remained was wild bands of pirates and desperate colonies of individuals seeking to claw out whatever claims they still had left. The problem was particularly impacting the Citadel, which still housed a large number of Batarian refugees. Most of the other races had begun to return to their homeworlds or other places of residence following the end of the war and the repair of the mass relays, but most Batarians had nowhere to go. The lower wards and the lower docking bays were still clogged with gang activity and the variegated crime that sprung from poverty, desperation, and a culture that often centered upon the institution of slavery. To top it off, there was a small group of protesters that were hell-bent on declaring the Batarians as endangered, insisting they be allowed space to practice their culture uninhibited, apparently no matter the toll on the galactic community as a whole. It was…an admirable gesture, but it was exhausting in its vehement naïveté and only served to give Garrus a headache. 

He had come to the Citadel again, initially, as an officer in charge of organizing, assisting and protecting Turian refugees and interests. As his people subsided to their previous places of residence (or new ones, in the case of complete Reaper destruction) and the position was no longer as needed, he’d gone adrift, and ended up where he was now, performing barely-aboveboard assassinations and threatening minor crime bosses into submission by whatever means he deemed fit.   
He couldn’t help but wonder what Shepard would think of his methods. In this chaos, surely, it would be justified? It got results, after all. But he remembered the events of four years ago. He remembered his immense frustration, anguish, rage, and gratitude when Shepard had stood between him and the traitorous Sidonis. If his friend had not been there, been the merciful man he was, Garrus would have killed Sidonis without a second thought. He’s not so sure he would have let him live if the same events were repeated today. Fortunately, despite having been on the Citadel for over a year now, Garrus hadn’t seen the traitor’s face. He rather hoped that he’d died during the Cerberus attack. Uncharitable, maybe, but damn if it didn’t feel justified. 

So, Garrus kept at it. He checked his news feeds, calibrated his rifle, took care of baddies, visited his few friends and stayed in his apartment on every v-day anniversary. Those days became the only days he’d drink.


	3. Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> god this is so fucking emo

It was a little less than halfway through the fourth year that he began to notice...unusual things. He’d be listening to the stereo stream, or checking the news vids, when he’d suddenly see or hear something oddly familiar. He dismissed it the first few times as his imagination, wishful thinking, or exhaustion. But it persisted. It was…definitely unnerving, but also, oddly comforting. Gave him a strange tightness deep in his chest. Faint but familiar.

It was Commander Shepard.

Well, not him, exactly. He’d never fully catch a word or see a face. But it was enough to make him question whether or not he’d finally gone around the bend. It was hard to explain. It’s not that those edges of words he’d catch even really sounded like Shepard, just that whenever he heard them his mind was inextricably drawn to the thought of his late friend. It would happen in public sometimes, now, catching a flickering letter or the hint of a familiar face in the digital readout of some ad or another. It was never out of place, and no one else ever mentioned anything to him. He began to seriously consider asking Chloe if she knew any good therapists. But the thing was: as strange as these occurrences were, it was kind of nice to feel like Shepard was with him again. It hurt a little too, thinking of him so often. But Garrus was a reasonable guy. He knew he could think through this on his own. Probably.

It was a few weeks into this when he decided to sit back and contemplate what it really meant. Presumably, he reasoned, it was his own mind telling him he had unresolved business with Shepard that needed to be worked through before he could move on. He didn’t want to move on, but. It was past time. So, that evening, he locked his door, and set up for an night of quiet reflection.

He thought fondly of all their adventures together. Of his respect and admiration of the man. That tightness in his chest returned, and his eyes narrowed in the Turian equivalent if a fond smile. Spirits, but he missed Shepard, even now. He wished he’d had more time with him. He wished he’d…  
Garrus sighed. There was no point in wishing, at this time, it’s too late. Might as well just face it and get it over with. He’d been…he’d had…well, feelings towards the commander. More than just friendly feelings, and definitely more than he’d ever let on. There. He’d thought it. Garrus had been just a little bit in love with Shepard, and now he was dead, and he could never so much as tell him. It was fucked up and it was uncomfortable and it made him feel rather unpleasant. He didn’t like focusing on his feelings this much, normally, but hopefully this would resolve the odd flashes of nostalgia he’d been feeling lately. It was time to move on. Time to meet a nice girl, or something. Get it over with.   
Garrus dragged his hand across his scarred face, feeling pathetic. Mooning after someone he’d never had a chance with in the first place, who had now been gone for three years. Breathing forcefully through his fingers, he forced himself to move on. Revisit him, revisit all the things you loved about him, and let. It. Go.   
So he did.   
He remembered Shepard. 

~~**~~

When they first met, Garrus remembered thinking how surprisingly old Shepard looked. He wasn’t great at judging age, especially in another species, but something about the gaunt cheeks and the deceptively deep eyes gave him the impression he was speaking to someone much older. It was only later that he learned that Shepard was only two or three years older than he himself was. He was quite suprised. It wasn’t that the man acted like he was getting on in years, quite the opposite. But in most lights he just… looked old. He even had a thin patch of hair on the very top of his head that was made blatantly obvious by the bright lights of the Normandy 1 reflecting off his scalp. Premature balding was apparently a source of great embarrassment for human males, he learned later, in a stage-whispered tip from Joker. He hadn’t known that soon enough, however, and had actually played a pretty rude prank on the Commander once.  
It was shortly after Ashley had died, and the whole crew was acting pretty dejected. They made port at the Citadel, and Shepard announced that it was an opportunity for what he called “mandatory shore leave”, but actually turned out to be a raucous party, presumably in Ashley’s honor. Pretty much everyone had gotten sloppy drunk—Wrex was daring other crew members to take shots of ryncol, and laughing his booming laugh when they spit it out, gagging and coughing. (Shepard was the only one who managed to down a single sip and reportedly he deeply regretted it later.) Late in the evening, Shepard was passed out in a booth while the party went on around him. Garrus, emboldened by alcohol and egged on by some mates, drew a wobbly smiley face right on that shiny patch of scalp. In permanent marker.  
It was absolutely uproarious at the time, but the next day, when everyone was sobered up, Garrus was sweating bullets. Fortunately, Shepard didn’t seem to notice. At least, that’s what he’d thought at the time. A couple years later though, at another “mandatory shore leave”, Garrus was the one who passed out mid-party. He awoke to what seemed like dozens of tiny pink ribbons tied all over him. One on each spine, each finger, his calf barbs, and two very delicately placed on his mandibles. And on the smack dab center-front of his armor: a wobbly smiley face. Shepard, it seemed, had been more thoughtful, using a washable pen. Still, vengeance had been served, and Garrus had laughed, a little sheepishly. He didn’t quite get it, but when he’d emerged on the CIC the next day, Shepard had greeted him with a “Hello, Little Bo Peep!” and all the human officers stifled giggles. Not one to stand there and take a jab, even if it was well deserved and he didn’t understand it, he retorted with a snappy salute and a “Good Morning, Commander Baldy!” The crew went silent, but Shepard just laughed, loud and full, and looked at him with those deep eyes. 

Interestingly enough, though, the one thing that had changed after Shepard’s “resurrection” at the hands of Cerberus was that his thinning patch was gone, replaced with the same thick brown hair that neatly covered the rest of his scalp. That, and the odd red scars. But those faded quickly.

Garrus had always thought that human hair was really bizarre. He didn’t know of another species with a feature quite like that, and honestly, at first, it had looked really odd. Smooth, unarmored skin, with oddly defined patches of long…fur? Definitely weird. But as alien as Shepard may have appeared to Garrus at first, he couldn’t think of him as anything but handsome now. 

Garrus pondered further on the various peculiarities of humans he’d had the chance to observe during his time in close quarters with them on the Normandy. Their odd penchant for soft beds, their almost startling resilience, their apparently useless nails and small, numerous fingers. He wondered what they’d thought of him. After all, to them, he was the alien. He wondered what Shepard had thought of him. Would it even have been possible…for him to find someone Garrus attractive? Human standards of beauty were…so odd, and seemed completely different for each individual. And gender seemed to play a pretty dominant part in how they selected their mates. Few humans really gave half a shit about each other’s’ sexualities anymore, but he’d heard that there was still a bit of a stigma for some of them surrounding it. He’d never seen or heard Shepard utter a single word about it. For a while he’d suspected that Shepard and Tali’zorah were an item, but that quickly proved to be utterly false, though they were unusually close friends. The same could have been said for him, he supposed.   
…Tali had taken Shepard’s death so hard. Garrus had been worried about her for a while. He shook his head, dispelling the disturbing memory of concern. Tali was fine now. He’d just gotten mail from her last week…

The night grew late, and Garrus revisited every thought he’d had about Shepard, everything he’d observed. His voice. The way he rolled his neck when he was standing idle. That stupid N7 track jacket he’d taken to wearing in the last few months before the last battle. His unfaltering devotion to protecting the world he cared about. The way he looked so, so old sometimes, and impossibly young at others.   
Garrus missed him.  
He remembered, a month or so before that day in London, he took Shepard up to the top of the Presidium and they held an impromptu shooting contest. Typical Shepard: he didn’t brag, but he didn’t hold back, either. Garrus had been closer than ever to stumbling out his feelings that day. Decided not to, in the end. Too much of a risk.

Still, there were times when he could have sworn he felt something between them. A hand heavy on his shoulder when it didn’t need to be, a lingering gaze, an unusual abundance of that human expression of happiness—the smile—when Garrus was with him. Just…a feeling. A closeness that moved beyond friendship or camaraderie into something that warmed him from the inside out, and left him wanting. But he’d dismissed it as a communication disconnect between two alien cultures. No point in hoping it could be more, especially not now…

It was late. The lights on the presidium would have long dimmed by now in approximation of night. His small apartment remained as dark as ever, the sim-window powered off and only a minimal desklight illuminating the space. He squeezed his eyes shut momentarily, wiping away the dampness that had gathered there. He said a mental goodbye to his memories. Then he got up, got ready for bed, and prepared himself for a new tomorrow.  
Ironically, though, the last thing he remembered thinking of before he fell asleep was a statistic he’d seen the other day: the most popular child’s name last year, across species, was Shepard. ~*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note to self: look over this again. Is the tone too intense?


	4. Garrus Watches a Soap Opera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I want to write the script to a Moons of Avanna episode one day because TBH it sounds hilarious
> 
> also my html skillz are mad rusty i haven't had to use em since like....2008...
> 
> Notes to self: show not tell on wepon? detail work sooner. foreshadowing, SON

The next weeks proceeded pretty much as normal. Any latent nostalgia was dismissed and ignored, and despite his misgivings, Garrus soldiered on to a new tomorrow.  
But the strange occurrences, as it turned out, weren’t over yet. 

He was collecting his pay from a recent contract when it happened. Since it was technically unofficial, it was still better to collect his credits manually, just in case. Aria T’Loak had left the Citadel as soon as she found somewhere better (read: with less law enforcement) , but the remnants of the gangs she’d controlled—Blood Pack, Blue Suns, and Eclipse, as well as some minor players—still lingered in the underbelly of the station. And these weren’t people you wanted to give your personal information to. Hence, the secrecy.  
So, when Garrus went to pick up his credits, his “co-worker” made an odd comment along the lines of:  
“Hey, aren’t you that guy that hacked the tele-channel?”  
Needless to say, he was not the guy that hacked the tele-channel, and he disregarded this comment. But on a whim, he did a search later on the Extranet: Garrus + Vakarian +Tele +Hack. No reputable news sources, of course. But there were a couple tabloids that apparently featured stories with those headlines. He selected the first one: a mag called The Presidium Prophet. He’d heard of it before, it was total sensationalist drivel. But intrigued by his apparent involvement in the story, he read on.

_Is Wartime Hero Garrus Vakarian to Star on Fan-Favorite Tele-Drama,_ Moons of Avanna _, or Has Our Beloved Show Been Hijacked By Hackers?!?_

Shaking his head, Garrus huffed a laugh. What the hell was this? _Moons of Avanna_ was a low-budget soap, watched exclusively by homebound grannies and particularly emotional Asari matrons. He wouldn’t touch the thing with a ten-foot pole, much less star in it. Still, he was amused.

_Late last night, faithful viewers of the drama classic, Moons of Avanna, were shocked to behold a mysterious message inscribed in the subtitles of their beloved show. And not just any message: the name of wartime Turian hero, Garrus Vakarian, repeated in block letters over the last 20 minutes of the show’s air time. Lifetime fan of the drama, human Tammy Smith (104), was distraught by this change of pace and quickly sent a complaint to the station’s management, as well as a tip off to us here at the Prophet. (Thanks, Tammy!). What could have caused this unusual occurrence? According to the station itself (CitaTeli, LTD.) the interruption was, quote, a “…computer error of unnown(sic) origin.” A problem with the speech-to-text recognition software, or could it be something more exciting…or sinister? The staff here at the Presidium Prophet have come up with a few juicy theories!_

Snickering quietly to himself at the ridiculously frivolous diction, Garrus read on.

_1\. Our favorite theory: The message was actually a secret tip from the producers of the show, hinting to savvy audience members that Garrus Vakarian himself would be co-starring in future episodes._

_We don’t have to tell YOU why this would be exciting news! While not as famous as the late and great Commander John Shepard, Mr. Vakarian would be a thrilling and doubtlessly wildly popular addition to this classic piece of teledrama. It would be a major ratings boon to the frankly struggling station, especially considering it may open up an avenue for a new Turian audience! Not to mention: what a hunk, right?_ (Garrus grimaces at this, and at the awkward photo of his face interrupting the text at this point. He’s half flattered and half creeped out, but mostly, just…no.) _Mr. Vakarian was not available for comment on this or the following theories._

He reflects at this point that he vaguely recalls deleting an unopened message from the Presidium Prophet not too long ago. Wasn’t available for comment, indeed.

_2\. Garrus Vakarian has given up his life of heroism for a sordid life of small-time hacks and big-time crime._

Garrus doesn’t deign to read the description for this one. Why the absolute fuck would he hack a cheap TeleStation, and even if he did…why would he do nothing but broadcast his own name for 20 straight minutes? Ugh. Moving on.

_3\. A spirit with a grudge against Mr. Vakarian has posessed CitaTeli’s servers and—_

Garrus closes the article.  
It’s late enough in the day to kill time by sleeping until he’s needed tomorrow. So, he tries. But he ends up wide awake sometime around midnight. He fiddles with his rifle, disassembling it, cleaning it, reassembling it, organizing his small apartment. It’s a single square bedroom, one sim-window, and a sliding door that leads to a narrow hallway off of which is a cramped restroom and an equally cramped kitchen. No one’s visited but him since he’s lived there, and it suits him fine.  
It’s kind of nice to not have to share an open shower with everyone else, like there was on the Normandy. It’s not that he was shy, but…humans are weird. But weird shower situation or no, the Normandy had felt like a home to him when he was aboard. This…this was just a place he lived, for now. 

He didn’t really use the kitchen for much else other than storage, and everything else was equally utilitarian. The most distinctive items in his quarters were his guns and…a medal (AN: The Star of Terra), given to Shepard for his heroism during the Skyllian Blitz, and given to Garrus by Shepard’s mother after his death. It wasn’t on display, though. It was neatly tucked in a top drawer.  
Anyway, he’d fussed about for about an hour, but still wasn’t tired. Turians really didn’t need that much sleep—not as much as humans apparently did, anyway. 8 hours? How did they get anything done?

He logged into his laptop and sat at its blank screen for a while, boredom buzzing in his head and preventing anything from sounding interesting. Thinking back to earlier that evening, Garrus remembered the stupid Moons of Avanna article. Offhandedly, he tapped in a search query for the show, and discovered that a re-run would in fact be airing on the local channel in just a few minutes. Thrilling. But….did he have anything better to do at the moment? No, he concluded. He turned on the wall screen and tuned in just as the extremely dated-sounding theme music began to play. He groaned. If nothing else, this would put him to sleep quickly. He turned on subtitles, as an afterthought. If there’s a vengeful ghost trying to get at me through this wreck, I’d love to see it try, thought Garrus smugly as he settled down to watch the episode. For a station well-known for being skinflint, he noted that the broadcast was surprisingly clear and lag-free. He pushed this thought aside as irrelevant and tried vaguely to catch up to the inane plot. 

From what he could tell, the protagonist, a beautiful Asari Maiden, was caught in a viciously overdone love pentacle between a wealthy human man with a bad haircut, another Asari with the sharp features of a caricatured villainess, a poetic Krogan (AN: the human writer of the show thought it would be a trip and a half to reverse the stereotype and have a Krogan spouting Shakespearean verse. Almost none of the intended audience heard it, that which did didn’t catch the reference, and the complex sentence structures often lead the poor actor to fits offscreen and onscreen slipups which were either poorly edited out or simply left in.)and a Hanar. The acting was awful, the sets were cheesy, and the dialogue was about as ham-fisted as you could get. At the get go, the human with the bad hair was in the hospital for some contrived medical reason, while the young Asari wept by his side. Garrus choked back an ugly laugh and turned the volume down in preparation for a restful night of mockery and half-sleep.  
He’d almost reached that perfect equilibrium of fuzzy inattentiveness versus slight interest when the subtitles stopped following the dialogue. He noticed this right away, as the smaller letters of the regular text was subsumed instantly by bold, capital letters, spelling out one thing, over and over:

**GARRUSVAKARIANGARRUSVAKARIANGARRUSVAKARIANGARRUSVAKARIANGARRUSVAKARIAN**

Definitely weird.  
He pulled himself a little bit out of the fuzzy grasp of sleep, not really expecting anything to happen. He almost felt like he should record this to have proof of it. He wouldn’t have believed it, honestly, if it wasn’t happening right in front of him. Shit like this—just didn’t happen. Then again, with Shepard, he’d seen stranger….  
Suddenly, the subtitles changed.

**GARRUSVAKARIANREMEMBERWHERESHEPARDWASTHEBESTSHOTGARRUSVAKARIANREMEMBERWHERESHEPARDWASTHEBESTSHOTGARRUSVAKARIANREMEMBERWHERESHEPARDWASTHEBESTSHOTGA**

He squinted, trying to read the crammed letters as they flickered by. 

“Garrus Vakarian, remember where Shepard was the best…”

He gasped as he remembered. 

“…shot.”

That day at the Citadel. When he’d taken Shepard up to the top of the Presidium to shoot cans. Where he’d almost blurted out those foolish words. The last time he and his friend had had alone together, before he died.  
He was awake now, sitting up straight. The message repeated a few times, then the regular subtitles resumed. He stopped focusing on the screen, his mind racing. No one but Shepard and he knew about that day. He hadn’t told anyone, and no one had ever mentioned it. How the hell did this shitty soap-opera haunting ghost know this detail about his personal life that no one alive could possibly know? Could something supernatural be happening here? What if---  
Okay, calm down. There had to be a reasonable explanation for this. Maybe he was more asleep than he thought he’d been.  
For one, He’d briefly mentioned this “best shot” business before he had to evac on the Normandy, the last time he’d seen Shepard alive. But…only Tali was there to hear it, and even if the remark hadn’t been so minimal in detail, Garrus seriously doubted that the Quarian would go to the trouble of pranking him, or whatever this was, from millions of miles away. So…that was a dead end.  
Next, he figured that it was possible that a security cam of some sort had filmed the encounter itself, and that someone had kept this recording, and was…now mentioning it cryptically through the subtitles of a late night re-run of a show that elderly women favored. Still, that seemed the more viable explanation. Maybe somebody at the station itself was doing this. But why? And how would they know if he’d seen the message?  
A chill went down his spine, and he resolved to buy a bug sweeper and check the apartment the next day. Just in case.  
This wasn’t exactly a threat, however. He considered. There was no real reason to think that the sender of this message wished him harm. He’d investigate, and be on his guard, but it seemed unlikely that this was, as the Presidium Prophet supposed, some kind of malevolent spirit. He exhaled, turned off the screen (now showing a 10-minute ad, since the show had ended) and planned his next actions.  
After a few moments of deliberation, he sent two messages. One, to the station, asking them if they knew what was going on and could illuminate the circumstances for him, and one to Liara. They hadn’t spoken in a while, but he figured that if anyone he knew could get this sorted out quickly, it was the Shadow Broker herself. Her network of informants was doubtless still strong on the Citadel, even if long range communication was still occasionally faulty.

 

_Liara.-_  
_It’s Garrus. I’ve encountered a strange message here on the Citadel, embedded in the subtitles of a late night showing of Moons of Avanna (I know, I know, don’t ask me how I heard about it) that seemed to be addressed to me, containing information about an event that only Shepard and I were present for. It’s nothing serious, and I don’t think it’s a threat, but…it makes me uneasy._  
_I know we haven’t spoken in a while. I hope that you’re doing well, your book is doing well, and hell, that this is even still the right address to contact you. But I was hoping you could do a quick check for me in case this is something more serious. I am happy to pay you, I know you’re running a “respectable business” over there. The message said “Garrus Vakarian remember where Shepard was the best shot.” It repeated a few times before going back to the regular subs. I don’t know much about the software they’re using, but it’s either at their end or the broadcast as a whole is affected and it just happened to be their show that got the message. I don’t know. I’m doing a bug sweep of my apartment just in case._  
_Let me know if you have the time to look into it, Ok? Thanks._

_-Garrus_

_PS Say hello to Javik for me. Is he still an asshole? Say hi anyway_


	5. Looking For Answers...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i hate html

He didn’t actually get home from “work” the next day. Or the next. It was a tough job, and he had needed to lay low in one of the numerous hidey holes he’d found till the belligerent parties he was dealing with were dealt with. When he finally did make it back, he just double-bolted the door, stripped off his armor and curled up face down on his bed. Minor wounds and rehydration could wait for tomorrow. And they did.  
He woke up sore, thirsty, and with dried blood clotting a scratch on his left cheek. His good cheek. Damn. Was nothing ever easy? He thought sarcastically. He took care of the latter two, and walked out the former, remembering his previous desire to get a bug scanner. He checked outside his door twice before heading out, bandage on his cheek and uncharacteristically bulky clothes to inhibit identification. After the last few days—just in case. But he made it to the shops and back without incident.

He came back to the room, scanned it, and to his relief (and slight confusion), found nothing. He tossed the scanner into the kitchen with the rest of his junk, and booted his laptop. He had several emails. A couple from an encrypted address (unofficial c-sec) about future assignments, several ads which he deleted without opening, one from the TeleStation, and one from Liara. He opened the one from the station first. As expected, they politely claimed they didn’t know anything about what could be causing it, but were working on fixing it, we’re terribly sorry, blah blah blah. Garrus archived it. Next, he opened the letter from Liara.

_Garrus,_  
_It’s good to hear from you! It’s been so long. Seems like we all dropped off the map after…you know. But I’m glad you messaged me. What you say you’ve experienced is definitely unusual, and yes, maybe a little worrisome. I will look into it right away, and let you know as soon as I know something. As for payment, don’t worry about it. What’s a little espionage between old friends? ;)_  
_The book is going well, but as always, maddeningly slow. I still haven’t decided what to name the damn thing. Javik (he’s not that bad, you brute!) was actually surprisingly accommodating to my questions, and even as you know came with me to live on Thessia for a while, as it is rebuilt. He acts like he doesn’t care, but you know, I think he really has grown attached to this new galaxy. Maybe even feels a little fatherly for the people here. Ah, I’m just projecting my own thoughts—dangerous thing to do in this line of work. Unfortunately, I cannot relay your greetings, though, as he left the planet on his own fairly recently. He wouldn’t tell me where he was going. I…hope to see him again someday. I know he was bereaved at the loss of his people, but he really was such a fascinating character. And not that shoddy a friend, either. Anyway, I’m rambling. I hope we can continue this correspondence. It’s good to know I still have friends out there from the old days._  
_Sincerely, Liara_

_PS. I won’t tell if you won’t…Moons of Avanna is my guilty pleasure!! It’s just so silly. Glad to have a fellow fan. :)_

Garrus chuckled. It was, indeed, good to hear from an old friend. And he was grateful to her for being so willing to look into his odd request. He knew she was busy. He typed a quick thank you and a reply, and shut his laptop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "What happened to Javik?" You ask.  
> Well, one of his lines in the final part of 3 said something like: "I'm going to a Prothean graveyard way out in the middle of nowhere once this is all over, and I am going to die there, because being the last of my species is sad and I don't belong here."
> 
> I feel like canonically this is what he would do. But I will prooobably be a big softie and come back and edit this, make it so he lives. Good job, Liara! Convince that bug boi that life is worth living...even if all your friends and loved ones are dead.


	6. ...And Finding More Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wow haha who wrote this

Over the days that followed, Garrus worked, healed, and did some minor investigating of his own. He didn’t turn up a thing. From what little information he could acquire between jobs, there seemed to be no root cause for the mysterious subtitles. He deleted a second email from the Presidium Prophet. And…he may have watched a couple more episodes of _Moons of Avanna_. Not for the show itself, of course. He was just checking for more messages. None came, but. You know. Just in case. (And it was looking like Joaquin would need a risky experimental surgery. Might as well finish the story arc, right? And there was some sort of bizarre subplot with the Hanar…)

It wasn’t that long before Garrus received word from Liara.

_Hello again,_  
_So, I looked into your mysterious message, but was unable to find any evidence of malicious intent behind it. I was actually unable to find any intent behind it, interestingly enough. There are records of just your name being in the subtitles a couple times, and the one message you must be talking about, but it’s all just conspiracy sites. My people checked CitaTeli but all they found was a bug report—no one there caused it, or knows what did. Bizarrely, it’s really looking like it’s some kind of freakish computer error._  
_I did find one strange thing, though. Apparently, CitaTeli is hurting for credits, and they’ve resorted to illegally boosting their signal with computing power directly from the Citadel itself. There are a lot of regulations surrounding the inner workings of the Citadel, like the Keepers, mostly because no one really understands it. They could get in serious trouble if they’re discovered doing this. Though…I’d appreciate if you kept it quiet, as a personal favor? I know it’s silly, but if they go under, so do some of my favorite shows. I’m too busy to watch much, but still._  
I’m sorry I wasn’t able to find you anything more concrete. If anyone knew anything, I’m sure we would have caught it, but…it really seems like an isolated event! I wish you the best of luck in resolving this. I know it must be tough, dealing with it on your own. I know you and Shepard were really close. If there’s anything else I can do for you, or if you just want to talk, I will be here, my friend.  
_All the best,_  
_Liara_

Garrus was…more than a little disappointed and confused. He was very grateful to Liara, but…an isolated incident? He’d hoped this would be something straightforward, something he could easily resolve. A nice case of blackmail or something. _Somebody_ must have put those words there for him to see. He believed Liara when she said that no one on the Citadel knew what caused this. But…he couldn’t accept that it was just a random bug, or some sort of bullshit ghost story. Some Turians might believe in Spirits, sure, but that was a whole different philosophy…..but what possibilities did that leave? He sighed. It looks like he’d have to dig out an answer himself.  
He typed a response to Liara, sent it, and got to thinking about the next step. He knew he’d be busy the remainder of the week, but after that he’d have a chance to get out there and investigate. Going back to the source of the message didn’t seem to gain him anything, so…he’d go forward.

_Remember where Shepard was the best shot._

“Where”… it was a location. The top of the Presidium, where he and Shepard had met that day. He’d spent so much time wondering how and why the message was delivered to him, he’d barely touched on what it meant. Whoever or whatever had sent it clearly intended to remind him of that place. So, why not start there?  
Of course, it was still against a lot of regulations to go up there, but he honestly didn’t give a shit. What worried him more was that he was heading towards following the instructions sent to him in a strange way by an unknown party. Anything could be waiting up there. It could be an ambush. Or…it could be a fluke, some crazy computer error, and he’d go up there just to find an empty roof.

He honestly hoped it was at least an ambush. He was tired of the mystery.

The week came and went, and Garrus got caught up in his work again. Things really were getting better out there, but slowly. The wards still really needed a watchful eye. It was dangerous, but he felt good doing it. Made him feel useful.  
So, by the time he managed to nab an off day, it had actually been about a week and a half since he’d resolved to follow the lead. He was a little tired, but determined to go up there and get it over with. It was past time to solve this mystery. He grabbed a handgun and headed out. You still weren’t technically allowed to carry firearms on the Citadel, especially on the Presidium, but pretty much everyone in c-sec knew his face and wouldn’t give him any trouble. After what he’d been through for this place, he figured he earned the right to at least carry a handgun into a potential ambush situation.  
Anticipation mounted as he flew a rented shuttle out of the lane and up to that rooftop. He wasn’t scared; exactly, just…he didn’t know what he’d find. This could end up any number of ways, and the more he thought about it, the more he didn’t like any of them. He could walk into an ambush, and either die fighting or kill some pathetic bastard who wanted to kill him. He could find nothing and live with Shepard’s ghost for the rest of his life. Or…find something else. An unknown. Resolve the mystery and never feel his friend’s presence again.  
He landed the shuttle a little more roughly than necessary and got out, hand on his gun. The roof appeared to be completely empty. Exactly the way he remembered it. A quick visual sweep and a peek through his visor’s scanners confirmed it: there was no one there. Part disappointed, part relieved, Garrus let himself relax a little. He walked to the edge, looking out over the beautiful view he’d last shared with his best friend. It was slightly different now, of course. War changes a place. It was still beautiful, though, and Garrus felt a wave of nostalgia wash over him as he remembered that day three and a half years ago. Three and a half years…it felt like forever, and it felt like the blink of an eye. It was incredible to think that he’d now been without Shepard for just about as long as he’d known him. It was such a short time, but it had changed his life and who he was in ways he’d never expected.  
He shook his head, clearing it. _If this is moving on, I’m not doing a very good job,_ he thought. _Let it go, Vakarian._  
Just as he was turning to leave, he caught a glimpse of a protruding shape casting a muted shadow onto the surface below it. It was puck-shaped, and the same white as the roof, so he hadn’t noticed it at first. Not expecting much, he scooped it off the ground. It appeared to be a holographic projector of some kind, like the cheap celebrity VIs sold to groupies and the like. He turned it over in his hand. It had no distinguishing markings, and appeared to be undamaged. It was an unlikely thing to find up here, to say the least.  
He looked around, aware he couldn’t stay up there too long without attracting unwanted attention. The only reason they’d got away with it last time was the war stretching c-sec’s authority too thin. Was this VI the thing he’d been sent up here to find? _There’s only one way to find out,_ he thought, pressing the ON tab and placing the device on the ground as the eerie blue of the hologram flickered to life.

“Good to meet you! I’m Commander Shepard, Alliance navy.”

Garrus stared, slack-jawed. It was one of those stupid Shepard VIs that had been such a fad before the Reaper war. He’d thought they were funny at the time, but this… this was wrong. In so many ways. 

“Is this some kind of sick joke? Because it’s not funny.” He was filled with a cold anger. SOMEONE was going to pay for this.

“I’m afraid that is not the correct question.” The VI answered hollowly.

“The _correct_ question, what the…what is that supposed to mean? “

“I’m afraid that is not the correct question.” Repetition. The same cadence, the same tone. A hollow imitation of the man who had been.

Garrus turned his back on the motionless avatar, disgusted. This was useless. Pointless. Stupid. A waste of his fucking time. All this mystery just—for some kind of prank? The program began to speak again.

“The Extranet says you’re a veteran. Good job keeping the Galaxy—“  
Garrus spun and slammed the program off. That was enough scripted dialogue. Enough of that digitized facsimile of a familiar voice. He stormed off, bracing himself on the frame of the shuttle, hanging his head. He was trying to get over the death of his friend, of the man he once thought he’d loved. All this stupid shit was messing with his head and making him feel sick and confused. There had to be a serial number, or something, on that thing. Something to track down the bastard who was putting him through all this. He’d find him and he’d wring his sorry neck.  
…Presuming he had one. You could never assume species, after all.  
He scooped up the silent device, tossed it unceremoniously into the shuttle, and took off. He was on the trail of whatever this was, now, and he was going to end it, one way or another.


	7. Nice To Meet You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ah yes ye olde "nightmare of u" cliche...  
> Note to self: para br8ks need work (THANKS EVERETT U R AN ANGEL)

Once he was back in his apartment and the shuttle’s starter chip returned to the rental kiosk, Garrus immediately set to work prying the casing off of the VI, examining the inner workings for a serial number he could use to trace its owner with. His hacking skills were still pretty good, and he was sure he could track them down. There—a twenty-digit series of numerals. He pulled up the manufacture’s name on the extranet, only to be dismayed to find that they had gone out of business a couple years ago. No company, no database, no tracking system. Damn.  
But he hadn’t made it this far to give up now. The Shepard VI had been pretty popular, yeah, but that was four years ago. Maybe if he cross referenced the names of people who made purchases from stores that had sold the item with the list of names of current citizens of the Citadel…but no, what if the unit had been stolen, or given as a gift, or the buyer was unlisted? Or this model was bought elsewhere? Or any other number of untraceable variables? He doubted he’d even get any forensics from this thing. He slammed his laptop shut and leaned back. There…really was no way to trace this thing. Was there?

Oh.  
Oh, he didn’t have to trace it. He just had to find out who put it there. There had to be a camera up there, or nearby. Or something. It couldn’t have been there long—janitorial would have found it, or something. Did they even clean up there? He still had access to security feeds, if he could just find the right one…!  
Garrus opened his laptop again and began typing and swiping furiously. In minutes, he was logged in to the security mainframe, scanning the sectors covered by camera sweeps and zeroing in on the area of the Presidium he knew the rooftop in question to be in. He was on to something, he knew it. All he needed was a face. Or a fingerprint, an ear, anything. He’d find it. There. A camera a dozen meters away from the site. It wasn’t angled to be looking directly at the rooftop, and indeed he would have to zoom in to see any detail. He selected this camera, and cued up the records from a week ago.  
Fast-forwarding and keeping his eyes trained on the rooftop, he waited for any sign of motion.  
Nothing.  
Puzzled, he went back to the time and date selection. It was possible, he supposed, that it could have been up there for longer…the air filtration system was so thorough that there was hardly a need for janitorial staff to control dust, and it wasn’t as if the roof was a high-traffic area. Or maybe he was mistaken about the whole thing. _Or maybe a ghost really put it there, oooooh,_ he thought mockingly. Wait, of course. The device would have to have been planted before the message on _Moons of Avanna_ , if it was indeed the thing he was meant to find. That would have been at least two weeks ago, then. He set the date back a month, just in case. He pressed play.  
After a few minutes of sped-up nothing, there was the flicker of a figure on the roof. No shuttle landing, just a low shape, seemingly appearing, walking across the rooftop, walking back and disappearing. Garrus froze the video and re-wound, playing it again at a slower pace and zooming in. There.  
But the figure wasn’t what he expected. It wasn’t some prankster setting him up for a laugh. There, emerging from the disguised entrance to a maintenance tunnel, was a Keeper. Garrus watched in disbelief as it scuttled out, placing something carried in one of its yellowy claws neatly on the rooftop. He paused again, and zoomed further. There was no doubt about it: a Keeper, one of the mysterious caretakers of the Citadel, had just planted the VI he’d just found.  
What the hell was going on here?

He’d never seen a Keeper do anything but peck away at one of the many maintenance consoles on the Citadel, not even when he and Shepard were going around scanning them for that eccentric Salarian scientist back when they’d first met. He’d never seen a Keeper _carry_ anything. And no one could have put it—them—him? Up to it. No one controlled or even communicated with the keepers. It was as if the Citadel itself had done this.  
What had that scientist’s name even been…Chobani? Chorbek? Chopin? Chorbin? That sounded right. A quick Extranet search proclaimed that Chorbin was indeed his name, and, to Garrus’s surprise, he was still alive and doing…who knows what. At a loss on what else to do, and not knowing anyone else who had researched the Keepers. Garrus sent him a message asking if any of this behavior was normal, or what the explanation could be. 

~~**~~

As expected, a short while later Garrus received a shockingly verbose reply in the negative, accompanied by a fervent request for more information. He…politely declined, and requested (maybe a little forcefully) that Chorbin keep this quiet for now. He didn’t want anyone snooping. It wasn’t a big deal, honestly, but…this was personal.

Well, he’d solved the first part of the mystery. But he wasn’t even sure what question to ask next. Feeling emotionally a bit drained from the day’s suprises, Garrus decided to rest for the evening after having his usual evening meal—a boring white solid that tasted mostly of chalk, bread, and raw meat, but thankfully provided all the nutrients he needed. Hey, it was cheap and available-- he’d never claimed to be a gourmet, after all. You kind of had to learn to settle when living off world.

Unfortunately, sleep didn’t end up being very restful. The day’s events must have messed with his subconscious, or something, because he dreamt of violence. He was back on Earth, as Shepard was telling him to evacuate, only Tali wasn’t there and the landscape looked less like Earth and more like Sovereign’s siege on the Citadel. And this time, he saw Shepard die. It was sickeningly vivid, and the sounds were so…close. It had the unmistakable tinge of unreality that all dreams had, but it was still enough to have him awake, gasping, visions of torn skin and exposed subcutaneous fat flashing in front of him in the dark. He held his head in his hands and tried to forget. It hadn’t happened that way. He hadn’t died like that. Why wouldn’t Shepard’s memory leave him? It had been long enough already.

He didn’t feel like going back to sleep, so he turned on his desk lamp, the warm light making the room seem less empty. He tried watching something , but couldn’t focus on a plot. Kept flashing on the dream. He wished he hadn’t been such a hardass and decided not to keep any photos of Shepard. It would just…be nice to see him intact, like he had been, for just a minute. Sighing deeply and cursing his apparently sentimental nature, Garrus turned to the discarded VI. If he ignored the thing’s voice, maybe…just a peek at it would ease his mind enough to pass out again until his next assignment. So he popped the casing back on, and turned it on, warily.

“Good to meet you! I’m Commander Shepard, Alliance navy.”

The voice was startlingly loud in the quiet of his room. Cursing, Garrus adjusted the volume.  
“Hello again, commander, how are you doing? Feeling any less dead?” he questioned testily.

“I’m afraid that is not the correct question.”

That’s the same line it had spoken before. It was a little unnerving. He didn’t remember the one he’d encountered on the docks four years ago answering queries like this. It should be able to mimic conversation better. Even cheap software could do that…maybe this one was broken? He hadn’t planned to talk to it, but now he was curious. Wouldn’t it just figure if it was malfunctioning. 

“Okay, what is the correct question?”

“I’m afraid that is not the correct question.”  
Yep, there it was again. Try something easy, to make sure.

“What is your name?”  
“I’m afraid that is not the correct question.”  
Thar settled it. He had a defective unit on his hand. He almost laughed.  
Feeling he had achieved whatever goal he’d had, he gave the hologram one more look. It…had kind of helped to see Shepard’s face again, even if it was like this. The dream was fading rapidly and he felt much more at ease, if still a little irritated at the discovery that the VI was buggy.

“Well,” he started, reaching for the power switch. “It was nice to see you, Shepard.”

He shut it off.


	8. Finders Keepers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Look...I think the chapter titles are clever...okay...

Life continued pretty much as normal. He was out a lot, sometimes filling in for guard duty for sick c-sec officers, sometimes making things a little harder for the slum gangs. It was pretty calm around for once, and Garrus was feeling better. Despite everything, he thought he was actually beginning to get on with his life after the mystery. Sure, he’d still power up the VI sometimes, but it was more out of curiosity than anything else. It was kind of funny, trying to find “the right question”, or whatever. Honestly, he doubted there was one, but one night he asked for a hint and the response was different. The hologram had stayed silent for a moment and then spoke.

“where am I.”

Maybe…it wan’t broken, after all.  
So Garrus tried various permutations of that until he got bored. “where am I,” Where are you,” “In my apartment”, and “Hell, probably”, for example. Nothing.  
By the time he figured out the right question, he’d almost forgotten about it. He was on a stroll around the presidium for the first time in what felt like forever. It was some sort of Asari cultural holiday and the atmosphere was surprisingly relaxed. He was leaning on a banister overlooking the lakes, casually eavesdropping on passing conversations. Most were pretty banal—a bride choosing a dress, commentary on recent Reaper sightings or the even more scandalous spotting of a rogue Cerberus fighter (though that one was most likely pure rumor), idle gossip and a couple friends trying to choose what to have for lunch. Talk about the war was less and less common these days, but it did still crop up. So when Garrus heard Shepard’s name mentioned, he wasn’t that surprised, but he lazily tracked the words anyway.

“…never found that Commander Shepard. Who’s to say to whole place isn’t hiding a bunch of old dead bones in it? It’s a bad atmosphere, is all I’m saying.”  
“Leelai, please. There’s no way there’s any dead aliens hiding in the walls. Just because this place has a violent history doesn’t mean…” 

He drifted out of the conversation, disinterested. He had always wondered, though. Where was Shepard? What had happened to him? It seemed odd that they’d never found anything more than a trail of blood.  
He decided to ask the VI, just because it was something he hadn’t asked before. And if he let himself acknowledge it, the lack of a body to confirm the death still really, really bothered him.  
So, when he returned to his apartment, he asked.   
“Where is Commander Shepard?”  
He expected the usual not-the-right-question reply, but instead he heard something else.

“Follow the Keepers.”

The Keepers again. His heartbeat quickened, and he repeated the question, in case it was a fluke. He received the same answer. Upon further questioning, other queries still returned the usual reply. This must be it. The right question!  
But what did the answer mean?  
Should he return to the rooftop, and try to pry open the maintenance tunnel? Those things weren’t meant to be accessed by anyone but the keepers themselves. Even the Council knew little about those hidden byways. Or should he just pick a Keeper and shadow it? Neither option seemed too realistic, and he wondered again at the fact that he was following instructions from an unknown source, for no reason other than to sate his own curiosity. Well. He’d come this far. He was going to see this through to the end. 

Feeling a little self-conscious, Garrus found himself paying extra attention the Keepers in the following days. Wherever he looked, there always seemed to be one around. He wondered if it had been that way before—the silent insectoids omnipresent, but ignored. Or if they now followed him for a purpose.  
It took him a while to work up the nerve not to just walk past them. He spotted one, tapping away as they usually did, at a console in a warehouse near the shops. There was no one else nearby. He hesitated for a moment, but reckoning he had to get it over with (and at least this way there’s be no one to watch him make a fool of himself if he was wrong), he strode through the wan lighting of the empty room to where the Keeper stood.  
At first, it didn’t seem to notice his presence, and he was on the verge of just walking away. But then it turned.  
With the black, pupil-less eyes of the Keepers, it was impossible to tell what they were looking at. But in that moment Garrus could have sworn it was examining at him. Acknowledging him. After a moment of this uneasy eye contact, it turned again, and crept off, towards the back of the warehouse and through a service door. Somehow, he got the sense that the hollow stare it had given him was an invitation to follow.  
So Garrus kept up with it as it crept through progressively more disused sections of the station. After a few twists and turns Garrus was no longer completely sure what section of the station they were in. It had been long enough that he felt sure they were at least no longer in the same district. Finally, they reached a narrow corridor. The left wall was featureless and smooth, and the right possessed only a light strip emitting a low red light. There was nothing back there—no security, no monitors, not even the discarded rubble of a homeless vagrant. It was eerie.

A little ahead of him, the Keeper stopped in front of an apparently unremarkable section of the left wall. Garrus stopped as well, wondering. _Why the sudden halt?_ There didn’t appear to be any doors or access hatches nearby.   
But then, a short hatch he hadn’t seen before slid open. Soundless and neat. It was just tall enough to admit the Keeper, who crawled in immediately.   
Again, Garrus hesitated. He wasn’t supposed to be here. There was a chance he wouldn’t be able to get out again once that small door closed behind him. Did he really want to…?

He ducked through the low opening, grunting in annoyance as he bumped the back of his collar on the frame. The least they could have done was make the damn door a little bigger.

The room he emerged in was much larger than the corridor he’d just come from. It was in the shape of a squashed octagon, wider than it was tall. His entry point was in one of the sides, and he carefully stepped down the slope to the main floor, taking a quick survey of the space. The lighting here was red here too, but more diffuse. It looked about like he’d expected the underbelly of the station to look. Shadowy, industrial, filled with massive cables and struts— clean. It smelled…off, though. Like a hospital, he thought.   
No. Like a morgue.   
Hints of stale antiseptic covering up the almost indistinguishable scent of old blood. Something had happened here. The war had touched this place.   
Uneasy, Garrus noted that the Keeper had vanished. There wasn’t really anywhere for it to go, but it was nonetheless out of his sight. Shaking off the heavy feeling, he started walking to the right. There was a subtle glow further along the passageway, and he perhaps instinctually headed towards it. As he proceeded, the light changed visibly. The red light behind him was subsumed by the glow he’d observed, which became brighter blue light, its source was obviously ahead and up. He walked towards it with growing determination. The answer to all this was near that light, he felt sure of it. The dark octagonal space then ended abruptly, the room around him expanding out and down to a distance he didn’t care to see. Ahead was a steep ramp—no stairs—which he climbed. He was getting close. And there, at the top, was the source of the light.

He was in an enormous but empty room, a sphere of blue light far above in the domed ceiling illuminating the complex setup that Garrus felt was surely some sort of central computer. There was a large window directly ahead, looking out into the Milky Way, and there on the far edge of the circular platform he stood on was a console. He approached it, not knowing what to expect. It lit up.   
It was…just a computer. He didn’t see anything that seemed to pop out at him saying “This is what you’re looking for!” just manual controls for various functions of the Citadel. Some of them the type of thing that the Keepers were in charge of, something that appeared to be capable of moving the station’s massive ‘arms’, and yet more which Garrus did not recognize. He peered at the console from all angles, seeing nothing out of place. There was a small wireless interface on the surface, half obscured by the holographic keyboard. It was for syncing autonomous devices with the citadel’s computer, he supposed.  
He stood there, at a bit of a loss on what to do, but not beaten yet. He took the VI out, having kept it on his person just I case it ended up being relevant again. Well, maybe it was. 

He placed the VI on the console and switched it on. It flickered to life, buzzing slightly and warping out of shape before snapping back into its intended form. 

“Good to meet you! I’m Co--.”  
Its voice glitched before it could finish the sentence, petering out into a tuneless stutter before cutting out. It stood silent again. The lights on the console blinked.

Garrus shuffled, unsure of what to say. Then, it spoke again.

“Garrus.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to cut this chapter up into like 4 parts because it was REALLY LONG. You're welcome.


	9. Don't Fear the Reapers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> YOU KNOW I HAD TO MAKE THAT JOKE EVENTUALLY. I was holding myself back until now. it was hard.

It knew his name. 

“What’s going on?” Garrus started.  
“What do you want? Who are you?” Now that he was here, he was somewhat scattered. So many questions, no order of importance. Just…he had to resolve this. Had to know.

“I’m sorry,” Started the VI (or whatever it was now). “This… must be somewhat unnerving for you.” The syllables didn’t sound quite right. Like the words were being put into order clumsily, the original programming taken over, stretched to fit over something else.

“Oh, no, not at all. Just your everyday occurrence. Some stranger using the face of my dead friend to get to me. I said, who are you? And what do you want?  
When in doubt, sarcasm always made Garrus feel better.

 

“I’m sorry,” it said again.  
“I don’t mean you any harm. I am only here to relay a message. To…say goodbye, and to tell you what happened, after London. I know that the truth about the end of the war is still not commonly known, and is probably being suppressed. Someone—you—needs to know that truth.”  
A pause.

“I am… what remains of the man you knew as John Shepard.”

Garrus froze. This was bullshit. It had to be. What?  
“Shepard’s dead,” He shook his head. Maybe…it was just some kind of mixed-up computer program. Thought it was the real Shepard. “You’re just…a copy of him. A VI.”

“I’m currently using the software of a Shepard VI to talk with you directly, yes. I thought that a familiar face might help you to... accept things.. But ‘I’ am, actually, the real Shepard. Or what remains of his thought processes and memories.”

“What do you mean, ‘what remains’?”  
Garrus was curious despite himself. It was true he didn’t seem to be in any apparent danger, but beyond that…he had no explanation. Best just to hang on for the ride.

“I’ll tell you what happened after London. That will explain most of it. Will you listen?”

Garrus nodded, despite himself.

“After you and Tali left Earth on the Normandy, I—or, the former version of me—proceeded to the Citadel via the Reaper beam, as was the plan. It took me here, to this room, and I opened the arms of the Citadel, allowing the Crucible to dock. The illusive Man was there… he was indoctrinated, and tried to stop me, of course. Anderson was there too. I tried to talk him down, but…he shot Anderson. In the end, though, he killed himself too, to escape the Reapers. Just like Saren.

But even after all that, just opening the Citadel wasn’t enough. The Catalyst was still missing.”

“I thought that the Citadel itself was the Catalyst?” Garrus interrupted. He was caught up in the story now, but skeptical.

“Yes,” said the hologram.  
“And no. It was an artificial intelligence that resided within the Citadel. And it was the root of the cycle of extinction. I—Shepard was badly injured, and dying. But the Catalyst explained its purpose to him and gave him a choice. The Catalyst and the Reapers were a machine built by a race innumerable cycles ago, created to solve what they viewed as an unresolvable conflict between organics and synthetics. In their view, this struggle was eternal, and could only end in one way: Synthetic life forms surpassing organics, and wiping them out. So they created the Reapers, so life could continue without this foreseen holocaust. The price was that all advanced life—synthetic _and_ organic—was wiped out every 500,000 years. Shepard judged this price to be too great, and ended the cycle.

There were only three choices offered by the Catalyst: Control, like the Illusive Man had been seeking, but without the mental subjugation he endured in the end; Destruction, at the cost of all synthetic life currently in this cycle; and Synthesis, the fusion of all living things with reaper code, fundamentally altering the baseline of life itself and ending conflict through homogenization.”

This was a pretty detailed story so far, he had to admit. And this…VI or whatever…hadn’t actually said anything he could point to as indisputably false. Besides somehow being “Shepard’s brain”, or whatever. He wasn’t quite sure what to continue with yet, so he settled on:

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s honestly one of the worst selection of choices I’ve ever heard. There wasn’t anything else? I kept expecting the next option to be better than the last, but—damn, no, they’re all just bad.”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

 _Spirits, it even talks like him,_ Garrus found himself thinking. No. Oh, no. That was just wishful thinking and he knew it. He shook himself, and prepared for what was next.  
Dreading the answer, but still not really believing what he was hearing, Garrus asked the million credit question.

“So, what did ‘Shepard’ choose?”

“It…was a difficult choice…”

“No shit,”

“But he chose control.”

 

Garrus interrupted again.  
“Come on. Shepard wouldn’t have done that. I knew him. It’s not his style. The man I know—knew. Would have destroyed the Reapers if he could! And this business about them being some kind of…final solution to an ancient war? It doesn’t make any sense. Why build synthetics to kill everyone because you’re worried that synthetics will kill everyone? That’s just…”

“It seems insane. I know. But I can only tell you what happened.”

Garrus sighed. “Well, at least you agree with me that your story’s crazy.” He gestured vaguely with his hand as if to say ‘get on with it, then.’

“Shepard did think about destroying the Reapers, but couldn’t justify the cost. It would also cause the destruction of EDI and the Geth. After all the sacrifice put forward to gain peace for the Geth, especially by our mutual friend Legion, and how close Shepard and the crew had become with EDI, it wouldn’t have been acceptable for him to allow them to die.  
The idea of synthesis was unbearable to him, as it would alter the universe he and so many of his compatriots—including you—fought to protect to the point of unrecognizability. To him, that was a betrayal.  
So, that left control.  
He didn’t like the idea. Like you, he wished for another option, a way out. And, as he lives on as me, I don’t like the fact that I was forced to choose this, either. But it was the only way to ensure the survival of the greatest number.  
And that brings us to here and now.  
As you’ve probably heard, there aren’t a whole lot of Reapers left. It’s been difficult to preserve the ideology that Shepard held—holds so closely to. I am him, but I’m more. I became the Reapers and it’s kind of like having a body with a thousand new appendages and a new brain for each of them. But I remembered my purpose, and I think that now, I’m coming close to the resolution that Shepard really wanted for this war. He didn’t want this technology to remain in this cycle, even under his control. It’s too destructive. Too dangerous. So, after repairing what he—what I could, I’m in the process of disassembly. The units damaged in the war have all been salvaged and destroyed, as well as most of the redundant units. About 99% of the remaining fleet is headed towards the black space between the Milky Way and Andromeda. Hopefully—“

“Redundant models?”

“Yes. I would have destroyed all of them, but there are some I’m just shutting down and hiding out in the black, where no one will find them for…well, hopefully, centuries. At least until we’re all mature enough to handle the technology. Because he Reapers didn’t just destroy species. They… harvested them, as you know, to create new Reapers. As dangerous as they are, these ships are the only physical remnants of hundreds of lost cultures. Their DNA is still locked up inside there somewhere. Shepard…would not have wanted their memory to be lost forever. So, only the redundant ships, the ones that were created from the same genetic material, were destroyed. The rest will remain inert forever, unable to wake.”

“Like an ark?”

“If you want to make it biblical.”

He couldn’t resist a joke.  
“Well, I’ve heard it said that ‘the lord is our Shepard…’”

The hologram was still for a moment, then emitted a short, staccato noise that sounded vaguely like the syllable ‘ha’ repeated rapidly.

Garrus stared, unnerved. He briefly considered the need for a firearm.  
“…What the hell was that?”

“I…uh…was trying to laugh. This software wasn’t equipped with the ability to recreate that particular sound, apparently. That didn’t really work very well, did it.”

“Noooo, it didn’t. And please, do not try again?”

“Fair enough.”

This conversation was getting way too familiar. He wasn’t sure he’d been imagining it, before. It really did talk like…like Shpeard had, besides that fiasco of a laugh. But even that was something he’d picture the Commander doing in a situation this absurd. He supposed someone studious and obsessed could have replicated his speech patterns… that was possible. Or…?

“Well, anyway. Say you are, somehow, the ‘ghost’ of Commander Shepard. How did you get here? What happened to your body? And, really. Why all this fuss just to get me here?”

Maybe it was just shock. This…was a lot of information to take in at once, and he was still missing a lot of answers. He finally let himself wonder. Could this really be Shepard? It was so impossible. It could still just be a mimic. A trick. But he couldn’t ignore the growing feeling of familiarity.

“You remember on Ilos, how Vigil told us that the Citadel was actually a Mass Relay, used by the Reapers to gain easy access to our galaxy?”

Garrus nodded. “But I also remember that he gave us a virus to sever their control.”

“Right. And it worked, Sovereign couldn’t call his fleet. It’s still working, by the way. I can’t open the Mass Relay; I can’t control almost anything on the station. But there’s still Reaper code here. And where there is code, there is me. I can still affect minor things, though. Anything connected to the Citadel’s mainframe is vulnerable to small alterations. And I still have sway over the Keepers, as you’ve seen.  
…I wish there was something I could do for them. They don’t deserve this fate, they were a very different people once…but they’ve been changed so much, and it’s been so long.”

‘Shepard’ paused.

“You know, not having vocal chords it pretty limiting. I would have sighed there if I had the capability. Kind of frustrating. I feel like I need to start prefacing my sentences with descriptions of tone, like the Elcor.”

Garrus stifled a snort.  
“Fascinating. Could you continue?” 

“Yes. Of course. I’m only able to affect small things on the Citadel. I can nudge radio waves; alter electrical patterns, that kind of thing. It’s how I got the message to you. I know it was cryptic, but I wanted to be sure it would reach the right person.”

“So you chose to put your top-secret message in the subtitles of a soap opera? That’s not giving me much confidence in your being the real Commander Shepard. I think he’d know me well enough to guess that _Moons of Avanna_ might not be my top choice for entertainment.” Garrus crossed his arms, his words dripping with skepticism.

“It’s not that bad. But I see your point. The reason I chose it wasn’t for entertainment purposes, thought…”

A sudden revelation.  
“CitaTeli’s broadcast,” Garrus gasped. “They boost it using the Citadel’s processing power. That’s why you could affect it.” Reluctantly, the pieces were coming together. This certainly explained a lot, if it was true. But…

“But why me? Why not Tali, or Kaidan, or anybody else, why not just broadcast what you wanted to say on the subtitles? Why the wild Varren chase?”

“You’re the only one of the team who I could effectively communicate to. The only one still near anything containing Reaper code. As for the general populace, no one would have believed buggy ticker text on late night TV.  
And …Shepard cared about you. I care about you. You were always a stout friend. I trust you, and know that your voice will be heard. If I tell you what happened, and you tell others, the truth won’t be lost. And someday when this galaxy is mature enough to venture out that far into empty space, they’ll know to look for the derelict Reapers there and they can learn from them. Those species won’t stay lost forever. 

But mostly I needed to say goodbye. Give you—closure. I miss you. I miss you all, the way I am now. Now that there are fewer of us—of the Reapers, my mind is quieter again, and I’m able to remember who I was and what I valued more clearly. I didn’t want to go without speaking to you one more time.”

Garrus stayed quiet for a moment. His blood felt cold. His scar itched. He kind of wanted to sit down. Logic, sentiment and caution were still warring in his mind when the implications of the last sentence caught up to him.

“Wait, what do you mean by one last time?”

“I mean that this is it. I’ve finally completed the mission, or close to it. I’m wiping all trace of myself from this code, and destroying the last Reaper soon. It will all be over. The galaxy will be safe.”

“You mean you’re _killing yourself?!_ ”The Turian spat in disbelief.

“Technically, I’ve already been dead for almost four years. My human body disintegrated when my mind was fused with the Reapers. I’m not even the same person now, not really. It’s all there, but it’s mixed up with whatever is in this code. It’s hard to maintain the same sense of self I did when I inhabited a single body.”

Well, that would explain why they’d never found a corpse. Shit. Shit.

“After all this, after all you’ve done, all you say you’ve done, you’re just. Going to, what? Drive yourself into a black hole while whispering ‘goodbye, cruel world’? The Shepard I knew wouldn’t just…Give up like that!”

“There’s no other way—“

Garrus kept on, eyes burning.  
“And how do I know. How do I know that you are him?  
You have to realize this story sounds a little far-fetched, right?

“We both know you’ve seen stranger.”

“Right. ‘We both know.’ Anyone with good enough information-gathering skills could have known any of the things you’ve just told me.” He was pacing now, trying to sort this out in his own head. It wasn’t working.

“The day on the Presidium roof. The shooting contest. There was no one but us, was there?”

“True. But there are cameras. It could have been recorded.”

“The cameras from back then were all destroyed during the Cerberus raid, and so was the data on them. Besides, the ones in that area don’t have clear enough sound to have heard what we were saying.”

“There’s always lip-reading…”  
That was a feeble justification, and he knew it.

“I don’t think there’s anyone alive that could read your lips, Garrus.”

Damn it. But he was right. There was no way anyone else but Shepard had written that message. All the dots connected, but. It was so impossible. It had been four years.  
It was suddenly a little harder to breathe. Oh, Spirits.

“Shepard,” Garrus breathed.  
“It’s really you, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, Garrus. It is.”

He choked out a laugh. It felt…it felt like the world was brighter, like coming out of a dark room.  
Or maybe falling asleep after a long and terrible day into a happy dream. If that was it, he found he didn’t really want to wake up. 

“You’re really making a habit of that old coming-back-from-the-dead thing, aren’t you? It’s not gonna be surprising if you keep doing it. Maybe try something different next time. Like, staying alive for once? Not dying in an act of gratuitous heroism?” He chuckled again, feeling maybe just the slightest bit hysterical.  
“I—ah—I don’t know what to say. I missed you too, Shepard. We all did.”

“I’m glad I got to speak with you one more time, Garrus. Thank you.”

At the reminder of Shepard’s imminent self-destruction, all the previous relief he had just felt drained from him in an instant. 

“No. Oh, no. If you’re alive now, even just your mind, you are not going to die on me again. You saved the _galaxy_ , for fuck’s sake. I think that earns you one more cheat-death card. There’s got to be a way out of this.”  
He wished that stupid hologram was corporeal just then, so he could shake some sense into it. No way was he letting his friend die again. He’s not sure if he could deal with that a third time.  
His brain churned, trying to think of some solution, some way out. There had to be. If Shepard ever taught him anything, it was that there was always another path. Even with this—out of those three bogus choices he says he was offered by that idiotic Catalyst, he made his own path. He was trying to end this on his own terms. And Garrus would make sure that this time it didn’t end with his death.

The hologram spoke up as he paced.  
“I have thought about this. There’s no way to both destroy the last Reapers and save me. The ones out in the black are already wiped clean. The Citadel and the few remaining Destroyers are the only pieces of me left. I won’t back down on this; and you know it’s the right thing to do.”

Frustrated, Garrus knew that Shepard wouldn’t back down. But there had to be some kind of compromise. Destroy the Reapers, save his friend. Had to be.  
“What about an android body? EDI was just an AI, but she downloaded herself into a physical form. I don’t see why we couldn’t do the same with you.”

“Thanks, but there’s no way to both see to the destruction of the final Reaper and transfer this consciousness to a different vessel. I need to be fully present in its form up until the moment of its disintegration. There’s too much of a risk, otherwise. I’m going to take it to the center of the galaxy, where the Collector base was. That’s where the rest have gone. It’s the only method that will destroy the Reapers fully. Besides, it’s too dangerous for any ship to fly into that area, and after the Alliance repossessed the Normandy it’s more than likely that the Collector IFF was uninstalled.”

“Joker flew in there just fine.”

“We still don’t have the IFF. Also, if I were to transfer my consciousness to an android, that android would become a piece Reaper tech, and would have to be destroyed as well.”

Garrus stayed quiet, thinking. There had to be a way. There was a way. 

“It’s okay, Garrus--”

“Just---give me a minute to think, all right?”

“Of course.”

So he paced. He thought of everything he could do, everyone they knew. Any string he could pull to make this possible. What did he have to work with? He could get ahold of Miranda somehow, and ask her about Project Lazarus. He hadn’t seen her in…a long time. She was one secretive woman. But for this, he could find her. She’d brought Shepard back to life once before, after all…though they did have significantly less to work with then before. And there was the matter of destroying the last Reaper…Garrus knew Shepard wouldn’t budge on that, and he understood.  
He had his contacts in c-sec. Liara. Dr. Michel. The crew, if he could get ahold of them. He had access to the Citadel’s black market, if need be. All he needed was Shepard’s body, alive somehow…a ship…and a way into the center of the galaxy…  
Oh. There it was. A spark.  
It built quickly into the flame of an idea and soon, Garrus was feeling excited. This could work. He could make it work.

…But to make it work, he had to make people believe he wasn’t just crazy. He needed proof. Or a second opinion, maybe. After he left this room, how was he to say this wasn’t all just some sort of fever dream? He wasn’t feeling that sure-footed, as it was. He thought for a few more minutes, and turned back to where the hologram was standing. He wasn’t exactly sure how long he’d been pacing. But he was too fired up about this to be tired.

“Shepard, I have a plan. I’ll tell you about it in a minute, but first, I need to make a call, to verify that I haven’t just gone completely insane. Is that all right with you?”

“Sure, but you know I can’t guarantee I’ll go along with it. Who are you thinking of calling? I’d rather not get all this out to the media firsthand, you know. I can’t stay here to tell everyone what’s going on, I need to wipe this server and finish this mission.”

“I know, I know, yes. I just want to call Tali. A little independent verification, if you will. I need that to make this work. And to make me feel less like I’m losing my mind.”

“That’s fine. This…might upset her, though.”

“I know.”

“We can’t take too long—“

“sssht, I know, just let me make this call, okay? Trust me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CATCH THAT BIBLE JOKE HAHAHA i'm hilarious
> 
> (Has Garrus read the bible? Does he even know what it is? How did he hear that saying? Two words: space proselytizers.)


	10. Tali

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'll think of a better title in the second draft ok...

He dialed Tali’s digital address into the vidcall app on his omnitool. It wasn’t going to be the clearest call ever, but it would do the trick. Should do the trick. Providing the long-distance call service was set up properly. And that Tali answered.

Fortunately, someone picked up after a few seconds of tense waiting. The camera was only facing Garrus at the moment, the holographic Shepard just out of the shot.  
A disgruntled looking woman Garrus had never seen before answered the call. At first glance, she looked human, but her eyes were faintly luminous, and even though the light was dim on her end, he could tell her skin was a cool lavender, with darker markings on her collarbone and forhead. Her hair was a mess, like she’d just been sleeping on it. Which she probably had. Whoops.  
“Hello?” She answered in a familiar accent, distorted over the poor call quality.

“Uh, hi. Is…Tali’zorah there? I need to speak to her.” 

The woman looked bemused (at least, that’s what he interpreted the expression as).   
“This _is_ Tali’zorah. Garrus, you do realize that some people sleep at night, right?”  
“Oh. Oh. Different time zones. You’re still on Rannoch. So that’s what you—I mean—wow. Uh. I guess humans aren’t the only species with hair.”

“What?”

Garrus shook his head. Man, it really was a day for surprises.  
“Sorry. I mean, I have some news that I need you to hear. Something I need you to see, so I know I’m not—“

“This had better be pretty important for you to have woken me up in the middle of the night, bosh’tet. We haven’t spoken in weeks, and now a vidcall? What is it?”

Not bemused then. Just annoyed. This was going to be fun.  
If by fun he meant potentially painful, he supposed.

“Well,” He started abortively. How the hell was he gonna drop this one.  
“You remember Commander Shepard.”

There was an awkward silence. Of course she remembered. Oh, this was not going well.

“Uh. He’s. Not dead. Well, actually, he is dead, but his mind survived in the Reapers, which is why the stopped attacking. It all started when I was watching _Moons of Avanna_ —“

“You watch _Moons of Avanna_?” she interjected. (Was that a hint of distaste?)

“No, but I was watching it because my name was in the subtitles, and then there was this message that lead me here, and…ugh…” This was even harder to explain than he had thought. He did sound like he was losing it. “It turned out it was Shepard, and he’s here now. Well, a hologram of him is here. And him. Just not his body. Here…” Not sure how to continue, he turned so that the hologram was in Tali’s view. 

“Garrus,”   
She did not sound relieved. Or curious. Or pleased.  
Oh, no.  
“You know what you are saying is ridiculous, right? And if you think this is some kind of hilarious joke, I swear on the homeworld that I will fly over there personally and—“

“I know it sounds crazy, but I would never have called if I weren’t sure. Here, just. Talk to him yourself. If it’s not him, you can fly over and…do whatever it was you were going to say.”   
He really, really hoped that she did not fly over and do whatever it was she was going to say. An angry Tali’zorah is a scary Tali’zorah. He shuddered. He better not be wrong about this.

He heard a crackle of static over the connection as she sighed.   
“It’s the middle on the night, Garrus.”

“Please. Just talk to him.”

Another burst of static.   
“So,” She addressed the hologram. “You’re Shepard’s brain.”

“I’ve never seen you without the helmet.”  
 _Really, Shep? That’s what you lead with?_

“Uh-huh. Really. Could you maybe give me some information I don’t know.”

“It’s just. You’re on Rannoch, then. It’s good to see that you can move about freely on your home planet now. Did you ever build that house you were talking about? The window you had planned out had such a great view.”

Silence over the connection.

“Garrus,you are in such deep shit when I get over there. I know you told it about that.”

“Wait, told it—him—what?”

“About the house! My plans! When we were on Rannoch, I made a comment about building a house with a window facing some scenic view or another. You and Commander Shepard were the only ones there to hear it. Kind of a coincidence, don’t you think?” She sounded incensed.

“I swear to you. I had completely forgotten about that conversation until now. And I don’t remember you ever mentioning a window.” He was telling the truth, of course. He just wished there was a way to convince her.

“Tali,” The hologram spoke up. “Perhaps it would make more sense if I explained the whole story to you.”

“Garrus, can I talk to just you for a minute?”

He moved the camera so Shepard was out of the shot again. “Yeah. Yeah. I’m here.” Not a good sign.

“I’m not going to sit here and listen to some bullshit story, Garrus. I want an explanation for this, from you, or an apology, or I’m hanging up.”

“Tali, wait. Look at me. You know me. I promise you that this is not any kind of joke. If I didn’t believe that this wasn’t Shepard, if I didn’t really believe it, I wouldn’t have called you. You know that. If you’ll just talk to him for a minute, and listen to his story—“

“Garrus, you have been so distant these past few years, I don’t know you anymore. We both took Shepard’s—death pretty hard. I’ve been a little worried about you, to be honest, but this?”  
It wasn’t anger in her voice anymore, she just sounded sad and so, so tired.   
“It’s just not possible, Garrus. Please. Stop. Talk to someone about this, besides me. Get help.”

“Tali, I know what it looks like. But I didn’t want to believe it at first, either. I can’t explain it, but I know it’s him, and I really don’t think this is some kind of psychotic episode or whatever it is you seem to believe it to be. This is real. I just…please, just let him explain.”

“If I still don’t agree after I’ve heard all you have to say, will you promise to go talk to someone?”

Garrus sighs. If she doesn’t believe it after this, maybe he is crazy after all. “Yes.”

She nods.   
Over the next several minutes, Shepard tells Tali the same story he relayed to Garrus. There are no inconsistencies between the tellings, and when he’s done, Tali asks him more questions: some about the story itself, and some about Shepard’s memories of her. After the last question is answered, the line stays quiet.

Then: 

“ _keelah._ ” A whisper.

“What? What is it?” asked Garrus. 

“It’s really him, isn’t it? It’s really you. Oh, Keelah. I suppose I shouldn’t be so surprised, after all we’ve been through, but…” She laughs. “It’s really you, Shepard.”

Garrus lets out a sigh of relief. Not crazy yet, it seemed. But this wasn’t over.

“Yeah. It’s him. Which is why we need to make sure that he doesn’t manage to get himself killed again. I’ve got a plan, but I’m not going to be able to pull it off alone.”

“I’m with you,” Said Tali, without hesitation.

But Shepard wasn’t so quick to comply.  
“While you know I appreciate it, this wasn’t why I contacted you. I have thought about this, and there is no feasible safe way for me to survive after destroying the last of the Reapers. I know it isn’t fair, but we have to say goodbye.”

Garrus was about to protest when Tali spoke for him.  
“No,” she started sharply.  
“You’ve died for this galaxy twice now. It’s time for you to get a little bit of fairness. I don’t care if it’s not safe, you deserve to see the peace you fought for, and I thing we as your friends deserve a little more than a nod and a wave before you consign yourself to cosmic oblivion! If Garrus says he has a plan, I say we listen to it.”

The hologram made a sound, the beginning of a protest.

“And I will not take no for an answer, Shepard. If you can be saved, we will do it, whether you like it or not. So shut up and stop being so damn heroic for once!”

Garrus leared his throat.   
“Right. So. The plan?”

It took a long time, but Garrus relayed the bones of his idea to his two friends. Partway through, he had to sit down. It felt like he’d been there hours. The light slowly crept in on Tali’s end, signaling dawn, so he supposed it must have been. But still, they plotted. As the idea was still rudimentary, it still had a lot of kinks to work out in the beginning, but all of them were able to be straightened out with a bit of creative thinking. By the time they were putting the finishing touches on the idea, it really did seem doable. Not completely risk-free, of course, but not impossible. Garrus was feeling satisfied but very tired by the time they agreed on their final solution.

“…All right, I think that’s as close to perfect as we’re going to get.” Garrus said as he stood up, stretching. 

“Agreed. As much as I hate to say it, though, I need to disconnect on my end for now. As mundane as it sounds, I still have responsibilities here on Rannoch to attend to. Garrus, you’ll contact me again as soon as you can, alright?”

“Of course.” 

“And Shepard…” Tali spoke again.  
“I’m glad that you didn’t completely die. I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Tali.”

“Goodbye, you guys,” she said, her other hand reaching in to terminate the call. “See you soon.”  
And she was gone.

Garrus put his arm down, shaking it. That was not an easy position to maintain for that length of time.  
“Hoo. Shepard, I think I’m going to head out, too. Need to get started. How should I keep in touch? Should I start holding séances in my apartment?” He joked, feeling surprisingly good despite being tired and having an aching shoulder.

“Actually, I don’t think you’ll be able to contact me again after this.”

“Excuse me? I could have sworn you just said “I don’t think you’ll be able to contact me again after this”, after listening to an hour-long explanation of a rescue plan to avoid exactly that.”

“It’s not that. Well, not just that. I didn’t plan on staying in touch after this conversation, you understand. My original intentions didn’t plan for it. I was going to wipe this mainframe after you left, actually.”

“Right. Well, you can skip that step for now. I need some way to keep in touch. This plan is about you, after all.”

“Garrus, I’m still not sure that this is even a good idea—“

“Stop.” Garrus held up his hand, and looked at the floor. He was becoming impatient.  
“Shepard. We need to do this. I need to do this. I almost died the first time you were killed, remember? I lost my way on Omega. You saved me then. This time, I was struggling too, and surviving, but...I don’t think I can do this another time. I can’t let you die again. I have to try. Please.”  
He was still looking away from the hologram when he spoke again, quieter.  
“You were so important to me, and I really, really want you back.”  
They both stood there for a minute, the flickering blue light of the Shepard VI casting a light shadow behind Garrus as he faced away.

“We’ll try, Garrus.”

“Thank you.”

“You still won’t be able to contact me directly once you leave this room, though. I will maintain a presence here until we’re ready with the plan, but there won’t be any way to speak to me except by what you are doing right now, right here. No other console on the Citadel is a direct line like this, not that you can access. But anything you do that can be recorded or seen by something controlled by this system, I will be able to see. Public terminals, video cameras…that kind of thing. But I won’t be able to speak to you.”

“…You don’t have cameras in my room, do you?”

“No, I do not.”

“What a relief. What about this room, though? Can’t I just come back here if I need to speak with you?”

“It would be best if you didn’t. If you start leading people here, or if you’re seen coming here too often, it might lead to this all being exposed. And I don’t want any power-hungry maniacs out there like the Illusive Man trying to salvage the last Reapers for their own gain.”

Well, that did make sense.  
“Emergencies only, then. Can you get to me through the subtitles, like you have before?”

“That’ll have to remain as emergency communication too. Somebody’d bound to notice if I keep writing notes in the margins of their precious soaps. I know some conspiracy nuts have already taken up speculating about it.”

Garrus understood the reasoning behind it, but he was disappointed anyway. It was going to be hard to do this without Shepard behind him. At least he had Tali to back him up. He’d just begun to hope…that since Shepard was alive, or something like it, they could talk again. Regularly, like they had before. He’d just have to wait until they completed the plan, then. He could do that. He’d have to.

“Just one more requirement…”

Garrus groaned. “Great. What is it?”

“This plan of yours. We can’t wait forever on it. The clock is ticking as we speak. The longer I stay around, like this, the more dangerous it is for the galaxy at large. If you and Tali aren’t ready to go within the year…I am going to end this.”

 _Well, no pressure then._ They could do it. Garrus took a deep breath. A year was enough, and he understood Shepard’s reasoning. “I understand.”

“Thank you.” Said the hologram. This was it. He had to get started. After all, the clock was ticking.

“All right,” Garrus sighed, defeated. “I suppose that I have to say goodbye, then.”

“Yeah.”

He walked towards the console, reaching for the VI.   
“I’ll see you later, Shepard.”  
He moved to switch the hologram off.

“Wait—“ Shepard spoke suddenly.  
Garrus looked up. “What is it?”

“You’re important to me too.”

Garrus’s eyes crinkled in a Turian smile.   
“I’ll see you.”

He shut off the VI. 

Suddenly alone in a huge, silent room, Garrus felt more tired than he had realized. He also remembered that he wasn’t quite sure how to get back to his apartment from here.  
Fortunately, he wandered back to the octagonal room he had entered into, and the same hatch slid open. He clambered back into the narrow red hall, and started back the way he’d come. It felt like forever ago that he’d been here. Somehow or another, he wandered back into a recognizable part of the Citadel, though it was definitely not the same warehouse he’d started in. When he finally stumbled his way home, though, he couldn’t bring himself to rest just yet. He had to start work on the plan.

They were going to clone John Shepard.


	11. The Plan

Of course, it wasn’t going to be quite that simple—not that cloning, as little as Garrus understood about the process, was simple to begin with. They’d need a massive amount of resources, backup, and luck to pull this off, as well as a whole lot of faith. Garrus was immensely glad he had called Tali. If it wasn’t for her, he wasn’t sure he’d have believed the previous day had happened, himself. He’d received a short message from her as soon as he returned home and checked his private mail:

_My friend,_   
_Thank you for calling me. I’ll be in touch as soon as I can. We can do this._   
_Tali’zorah vas Rannoch_

Of course, he sat down at his desk and immediately began to organize his thoughts in a digital document. If this was going to work, he needed to plan everything meticulously, and quickly. There was so much to do, he honestly wasn’t sure where to start, and on top of that, he was still feeling massively tired. It had been quite the day. Night? He…wasn’t entirely sure how long he’d been gone. It was a good thing he more or less made his own hours. He’d have missed work for sure if he was employed in a standard job. It didn’t take too much documentation before his plan started to organize itself into rational parts, but before it could finish, he found himself passed out face-first on his desk, laptop settling into power-saving mode and the lights still dim.

But he did not sleep for too long.   
He awoke suddenly, the ideas and experiences of the day before rushing into his head. His first impulse had been to reach out and tell everyone, all of the old crew about Shepard and about the plan. They’d need all the support they could get if this was all to work, and he honestly just wanted to talk to someone else, to give his friends that same relief he felt in realizing that the Commander was not yet lost. Hell, the whole galaxy would be elated at the news. Despite this, he restrained himself. It wasn’t yet the time to start spreading false hope. He and Tali had to create the groundwork and build from there. There were too many people who could use any of the information they’d heard from Shepard to malicious ends, too much of a risk to do this anything but slowly and quietly. 

Garrus woke his laptop, preparing to send a secure message to Tali, sharing these thoughts with her and asking if she had any ideas on where to begin. He had some suggestions already, but wanted to be sure to coordinate their efforts as neatly as possible. As the screen glowed back to life, his notes from the night before popped up. They….looked a little bit messier than he remembered, to be honest. He wished momentarily that he could speak to Shepard again, decide on a starting point. Plans like this had always seemed simple with the Commander. Garrus shook his head, clearing it. He could do this. He just needed a place to start.   
Before he could open a new message document for Tali, his omni-tool notified him that he had a call. Audio only, this time. It was from Tali. He answered.

“Garrus!” She spoke before he could even greet her.  
“I’ve been thinking about our plan all day. I think we’re going to need to ask Liara to help us, before anyone else. She can get in touch with people and resources we can’t, and I think she’d definitely want to know about this.”

“Agreed. But I think we should hold off on telling too many people right away. What Shepard said was true; there are still people out there who would love to get their hands on a live Reaper. The fewer people who know, the better. Once we get closer to the final date, it might be safer, but…”

Tali sighed.   
“I wish we could just tell everyone, though. It’s not that I—I understand your point, of course. But I just wish that we could at least tell all our old friends. They deserve to know about this just as much as we do.”  
They were on the same page, then. Garrus felt a wave of gratitude to Tali. No, he definitely could not have done this without her.

“Trust me, I feel you,” he laughed. “But they’ll all know eventually. Once he’s with us again, wandering around and striking up conversations like he always does…anyway. We need to talk about the plan.”  
He suddenly remembered he had to tell Tali the two caveats Shepard had put to him after she had hung up. Like taking off a bandage, he though. Best to get it over with.  
“Actually… there were a couple of…developments in the plan that I need to pass on to you first. Courtesy of Shepard, damn the man.

Tali groaned. “Oh, boy. What did he say.”

“Well. First, we have to have an ETA before the year’s out, or he’s going to take matters into his own hands…”

“That’s not too bad. It’ll be a bit difficult, but we can pull it off. I’ve looked into it a bit, it shouldn’t take much longer than that to finish the clo—“ She stopped abruptly.   
“You’re on a secure line, right?”

 _Shit._  
“ _Tch_ , sorry, hold on. I didn’t even think about it. Going to have to be a lot more attentive to that.”  
He manipulated a few variables within the app, establishing a stronger encryption to the call.   
“There. We’re set. Not that anyone should be checking in on us, but it’s better safe than sorry. You were saying?”

“The clone. Shouldn’t take much over a year to develop. I’m an engineer, not a scientist, of course, so it’s just based off of some scholarly articles I found—but it seems promising. So, what’s the next lovely ‘caveat’ our beloved Shepard decided to bestow upon us?”

He took a breath. This was the fun one. “We can’t actually contact Shepard again directly except in emergencies.”

“ _WHAT._ ”

“Yeah. I’m not happy about it either. But, I can get messages to him, if we need to. He’s still ‘here’, sort of, in the Citadel. Anything I do on public terminals or anything connected to that mainframe, he can see.”  
He explained the rest briefly. Shepard’s limited control over Citadel systems, and of the need for secrecy.

“That’s not much of a consolation. We’re planning a rescue mission without being in contact with the man we’re rescuing. That’s just…”  
A sigh of frustration. 

“Yeah.” Agreed Garrus.

Tali continued, seeming to shake off the setback.  
“Well, if that’s what we have to work with, we might as well take it. We can still make this happen on our own.” The quiet sound of a digital workspace being manipulated filtered through the comm.   
“I’ve written down all the main points or what we spoke about with Shepard. Bottom line, there are three main things we need to get or do for this plan. We need the clone, we need a ship, and we need a quantum communicator. The ship is most likely going to be the least complicated element of the plan, so I’m thinking that it’s the first thing we should try to do. I can probably use my position as General to acquire something, but we don’t have anything with Quantum comms yet…”

Garrus pulled up his own document, examining the points she had just touched upon and the notes he’d made. “Why not just contact Joker? We know him, and it already has a QEC installed. Kill two Pyjak with one spear.”

“What did the Pyjak ever do to you?” Tali retorted. “Besides, I don’t see why we should get Joker mixed up in all this. I know he’s still piloting the Normandy—I check up on the ship, sometimes—and something like this would put him at major risk of losing his job. He loves that ship, Garrus. There must be another way to get a QEC. Besides, what were you going to do to get the other half? Break into Alliance HQ on Earth?”

But Garrus wasn’t convinced, though he did sympathize with Joker. He was a funny guy. They hadn’t gotten along spectacularly well at first, but…Garrus hadn’t gotten along with anyone very well at that point in his life. “I don’t want Jeff to lose his position on the Normandy either, but you’ve got to admit that it would be extremely helpful to have him and EDI on board with this. Not to mention that she’s likely the only one in the galaxy who can reconstruct the reaper IFF if we need to go through the Omega 4 relay.”

“We won’t have to go through the Relay—that’s the whole point of having the Quantum communicators, Garrus. We decided this before.”

“Like I said, better safe than sorry…” 

She seemed to consider it, then move on.  
“Well, if not the ship, what do you think should be our first step?”

Garrus looked back at his screen, thinking. It wasn’t going to be the easiest thing to start with, but it needed to be done, and soon. “I think we should secure our resources and begin the cloning process first. It will take the most time, and without a viable… body, this plan is never going to succeed.”

“Smart. Yes. Uh…pphhh. I don’t know of any resources here that could be used for that. Do you…oh, wait! Miranda would be a good place to start, would she not? She was involved in the original Project Lazarus. She’s practically the galaxy’s leading expert on bringing back a dead Commander Shepard. I don’t have any idea where she is, but I’m sure Liara would know. We should contact her after this, let her know the situation, like we discussed before. Miranda might even know of facilities we could use.”

“Ah, Miranda Lawson, that human embodiment of humility and friendship…”

“Oh, come on, she’s not that bad! Give her a break, she’s more than earned it.”

“Ahhh, I know. To be honest I respect the hell out of that woman. She’s a force to be reckoned with, for sure, and I wouldn’t want anyone else on our team for this. She’s just a little… intimidating. Don’t—tell her I said that…”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Refocusing, Garrus returned to the main point at hand. This wasn’t the time to get sidetracked.  
“We’ll ask Liara to contact Miranda, then. I think we should both message her, either separately or together. We need to tell her about the plan, and it’s probably best if we present it as a unified front, so we don’t just look like lunatics. She already knows about the messages I was getting through the vids…that should make it easier to accept. Probably.”

“And if not, we’ll lust look crazy together.”

“Exactly.” 

They laughed for a second. It was pretty crazy, true or not. But it was time to get going. This was enough to get them both started, and a quick glance at the clock told Garrus that it was getting close to the start of his day.   
They discussed a few more details of this first course of action together. Garrus would write a draft message to Liara, explaining the situation, and forward it to Tali. Tali would compose her own letter, and once she gave it the go, they’d both send their messages. She decided that she’d begin to examine her options in terms of a ship for the final part of the mission. They could always contact Joker later, if things changed, Garrus reckoned, and it was good to have something waiting in the wings. In the meantime, he would perform some scouting of his own, on the Citadel. Miranda was definitely a good start in terms of finding the resources for the clone, but he had his own leads, and it would be awfully handy if they could start the process right here. He told Tali that he planned to tell one more of their mutual friends. Well, in Tali’s case, an acquaintance, really. But they both trusted that this contact would be safe enough. She’d saved Tali’s life in the past, after all.

So, once the details were set out and they were ready to begin their respective missions, the call was ended. Garrus fetched his morning meal, and began work on two e-messages.  
The first, his draft of the explanation of events surrounding his and Tali’s plan for Liara, which took about an hour and a half to write, much to his chagrin.

The second, an invitation for a chat and a coffee (or not) to his friend, Dr. Chloe Michel.


	12. The Lights Are Always On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can I fit Faunts' entire discography into this fic via chapter titles? Find out starting now.
> 
> Notes to self: show dun tell again. first 4 p, active voice. "I'd start w p3, then 2, then 4 and tear 1 into pieces n sprinkle throughout." THANKS AGAIN EVERETT UR GOIN ON THE DEDICATION PAGE  
> More tense slips ....

As the day began, Garrus left his apartment and headed to his beat in the wards. He hadn’t checked in with C-Sec or any of his local contacts in a day or so, and needed to catch up in his work. As important as the plan was to him, he still recognized his responsibility to the people he’d sworn to protect here. Maybe it was a Turian thing. Maybe it was just a common sense thing. But either way, even with that responsibility weighing on him, he wasn’t as focused as he’d usually be. 

Before the…incident, with the hologram yesterday, Garrus had been on the trail of a Batarian pirate gang, rumored to have a smuggling organization on the Citadel. The ring was only a small part of the gang itself, which was mostly space-borne and consisted primarily of disenfranchised Batarian nationals and their Vorcha mercs/slaves. This larger organization was causing a lot of trouble out in the fringes of the Attican Traverse, and even in Citadel space itself. They were unusually well organized and had become quite the problem.  
Though the smuggling ring was small, it was a strategically important group. The Citadel was a major hub for trade, immigration, and business, among other things, and if he could destroy this connection the pirate bands had to it, it would seriously impact their ability to move commodities and resources. 

Garrus crept about unseen in the chaos of the station’s Lower Wards, still a somewhat distracted but beginning to feel a little more at ease. The rest of his life may have been turned upside-down, an exciting an unclear path laid before him. But this? This was what he had always known. He checked in with his contacts, finding no new information besides the usual off-kilter rumor which he followed to its root, which in this case, was a bag lady living behind a dumpster. She’d been robbed of a few items from her precious bags, and had blamed pirates. Garrus was pretty sure that the people he was looking for wouldn’t be after a half-dozen pairs of socks and a can of beans. He gave the woman a few credits, anyway. Maybe she’d just spend it on Red Sand or something, but he rather hoped she’d use it to buy another can of beans, or the like.  
There were fewer people like the bag lady on the station now. It was only noticeable because he’d been paying so much attention, but it did seem like conditions were slightly improving on the streets here. Someday, he hoped, it would be back to what it had been before the war. A little skeevy, perhaps, with dirty politicians trying to manipulate the council or the embassies. But not as crowded. Not as many gangs, or as many desperate homeless. They’d get there, someday, he hoped. 

Though he hadn’t struck pay dirt with the rumor mill today, he did hear about a theft from one of the local news kiosks that intrigued him. Some helium-3 mining equipment and drones had been stolen, and had not yet resurfaced on any known black markets. It wasn’t a smuggled shipment of guns or anything like he’d expected or previously seen from the pirates, but that kind of item wasn’t something you steal for light use. It was more likely someone had purloined the goods in order to create their own fueling station. Which was just the kind of thing a rogue fleet of outlaws would want.  
Satisfied he could do more elsewhere, and a little impatient to return to his apartment and continue his work on the plan, Garrus left the wards and journeyed to the c-sec office to pick up the case file on the missing equipment. Someone else was likely on the case already, but it couldn’t hurt to have a digital copy for his own purposes.  
The day wasn’t over yet, but Garrus was eager to return home and check if Tali had replied to him. There were apps so that you could check your mail on the go, but…he’d never been that great at keeping up with that kind of thing. It was only due to this recent turn of events that he was regularly checking it at all.  
As soon as he was back to the apartment, he put down his things and immediately activated his laptop. There was no reply from Tali yet, but Chloe had responded a while ago, probably pretty soon after he sent the message. 

_Hello, Gary!_  
_It’s been a little while, hasn’t it? Things have been hectic at the hospital, and I’m sure your job’s been no peach, either. I’d love to catch up and have a cup of tea or something—I even heard that the café on the commons has some dextro-amino options now! I guess I won’t have to feel bad that I’m the only one chugging caffeine at our rendezvous this time._  
_I’m free during my lunch hour today, or early tomorrow. You said you have something you’d like to talk to me about, so I assumed sooner was better. Let me know what works. I look forward to seeing you again._  
_Sincerely,_  
_-Chloe_

Garrus checked the time. It was too late to meet her for lunch, but tomorrow would be fine. They had slightly different work hours, so making plans was often a little confusing, especially since the lights on the Wards where he lived never went down for an artificial night. They did on the Presidium, though, so Chloe worked along those “daylight” hours. Her morning would actually be later in his evening. He tapped out a short reply.

_Thanks for getting back to me so quickly, Chloe. Sorry I missed lunch, I was out and about on the job. Tomorrow morning is great. 0600 at the usual place?_  
_See you soon._

He pressed send, and settled in at his desk to examine the file he’d picked up on the theft.  
It appeared to be a fairly straightforward case, if lacking in leads. A disgruntled Volus merchant contacted an officer the day before yesterday, reporting a missing shipment of mining equipment. The missing drones were only discovered in the subsequent investigation, since there had been about 50 of the units in total, and only 3 were missing. It was not a discrepancy that would have been noticed until its delivery off-world. The shipping crate was not visibly damaged until examined closely. Security cams in the warehouse caught the thieves, but had not been a viable means of identification as they were wearing a common make and model of full-body light armor. The suspects’ somatotypes indicated either human or Batarian perpetrators. But otherwise there was no data indicating who they were or where they had taken the stolen goods. Their entry into the warehouse didn’t provide any clues, either: no one unauthorized had entered the unit, according to digital record. The owners of the warehouse and the trader himself had been investigated, but that too lead to a dead end. It turned out the Volus had lost his card key recently, and although he was insistent that it was deactivated as soon as he noticed it was gone, it was all too likely that the key had somehow been the one used in the break-in.  
Garrus finished reading, and sat back, thinking the case over. Perhaps he had been wrong. The pirate gangs tended to be a lot more straightforward: robberies were at gunpoint, and usually the whole stock was taken, not just a little equipment and a few drones. This was stealthy. If the pirates were becoming organized enough for something like this, then c-sec had more to worry about then simple larceny, even if this was an isolated incident.  
…Then again, maybe it wasn’t so isolated.  
Theft like this tended to be underreported or misfiled as “lost stock”. When single items went missing, or ever two or three, employee negligence was more likely to be blamed than anything else, especially nowadays in the lower wards. The missing drones would not have been discovered until the shipment made it to its destination, if it weren’t for the mining equipment. Garrus wondered if there had been more thefts like this. If they were carried out using similar methods it was very possible. Of course, this could just be paranoia…

A message arrived on his laptop, interrupting his thoughts. It was Tali, notifying him that she had completed and sent her half of the story. It was up to him now.  
Time to let Liara in on the plan.


	13. Coffee, Not A Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alt title: Parlier de la pluie et du beau temps?

Garrus passed the time until his meeting with Chloe by checking in on his theory about the theft. There wasn’t much he could find with only the resources he had at home, but that pretty much went along with what he’d expected. It was going to be necessary to check up on individual merchants to enquire after smaller losses. Hopefully, he wouldn’t find anything worrisome, but it was worth a look. He could do that today after his meeting. Dr. Michel had responded not long ago, confirming the time and location.   
Caught up in his investigations, the hours passed quickly, and soon it was time to head out. Garrus left a little early, feeling suddenly apprehensive. Was this really such a good idea? He trusted Chloe, that much was for sure. She’d met Shepard around the same time that he had, and had stayed in contact with them both ever since. Well, with Garrus, anyway. Shepard’s habit of dying tended to make regular communication a little more difficult. She had been a good friend to Garrus, though. But perhaps he’d been too enthusiastic in deciding that she was someone he wanted to include in the plan. They had to be cautious. It was unlikely anyone would connect a quest to create a clone with the current whereabouts and behavior of the Reapers, much less that anyone would even be scrutinizing him or Tali, anyway. But the effects could be disastrous if by some chance they did.  
Besides, as clever he knew Chloe to be, what were the chances she’d even know anything about cloning? And what if someone overheard the conversation and decided to investigate?  
Garrus arrived at the café. Well, it’s too late for those worries, he supposed. She’s already here. 

She spotted him quickly, rising to offer a greeting.

“Gary! Hello!” 

She gave him a little half-hug once he reached her table. Turian culture wasn’t much for casual touch, but Garrus had become accustomed to it. Chloe was a very affectionate person, once you got to know her, and had a nickname for almost everyone. She was so professional at work it had been kind of a shock at first. The first time she’d called him ‘Gary’, he’d honestly wondered who she was talking to. She’d laughed and asked if the nickname was okay with him. He’d had a few derogatory monikers before, but few friendly ones. It was kind of… nice. He’d never accept it from anyone else, though. Chloe just had a way of being open and honest with people that made it seem all right.

“Hey,” he responded, still a little uneasy. He sat down with her, looking around. Even though it was still fairly early, the café was pretty crowded, and he knew for a fact that there were security cameras in this area. 

“Would you like a tea? I wouldn’t know for myself, of course, but they do indeed have some new Dextro options here that sound quite nice.”

“Oh, no thanks, not today…” He was throwing cautious glances at the surrounding area. There were too many people here. He knew it was unlikely that any of them would be a problem, but…this was too important to take any chances. Chloe’s voice again called him out of his uneasy ponderings.

“Are you all right? You seem distracted. Is it your work? I know you had said there was something you wished to discuss. I hope there’s nothing wrong…” the doctor was looking at him, mild concern in her eyes. 

“No, nothing’s wrong. I had a favor to ask, actually.” 

“Oh! What is it, _mon chéri_? I’m happy to help a friend if I can.”

Garrus deliberated. They had about an hour before she had to leave for work. If they could just get somewhere a little quieter, he’d feel more at ease…

“Well…actually, this isn’t the best place to ask. It’s kind of a sensitive subject, so, would it be all right if we went somewhere a little more…” He searched for a good word. Something that didn’t sound like he was inviting her to a secret meeting or anything suspicious. This whole ordeal was making him paranoid, wasn’t it?   
“…more intimate. How about you come back to my place? You can take your coffee, and it’ll just be you and me. It’s not too far.” Perfect! That sounded natural. Right?

Chloe furrowed her brows curiously, and looked at him askance.   
“Forgive me if I am misreading your intentions, but I feel I should remind you that while I consider us to be good friends, I am a happily married lesbian woman…”

Garrus interrupted, mortified. Clearly that had not been the right word choice, at all.  
“Oh. Oh, no. Shit. I’m sorry. That didn’t come out right; I really do just have a favor to ask you, it’s…”

He held his head in his hands, and Chloe started laughing. She put her hand over her chest and continued, sounding relieved. “Oh, my God. No, I’m sorry. Just got worried for a second. You wouldn’t be the first man to try that. Ahhh, _dieu_ …”

“It’s not even that big a deal—well, it is, but I just wanted to be careful, I’m sorry…”

“It’s perfectly all right; it was an honest case of miscommunication…”

“…Wait, you’re married? And, if I may ask. What’s a ‘lesbian’? Is that a religious sect?”

This seemed to send Chloe further into fits of laughter.  
“A religious sect! No, I should think not! I forget that many of our words and labels aren’t commonly used outside of human communities. A ‘lesbian’ is a woman who is only attracted to other women. And, Garrus, shame on you! I know I’ve mentioned Clara to you before.” She said this jokingly, waggling her wedding ring-adorned left hand.

“That is… an oddly specific term, but it seems that you humans have quite a few of those. Clara? You mean your roommate? Ohhhh….Well, that certainly explains a lot.” Chloe laughs again, but Garrus looks at her seriously.  
“Anyway, I really do have a favor to ask you. I should have thought of it before I contacted you; it’s not anything dangerous, but I would feel a lot safer if it were discussed in private. It doesn’t have to be my place. Just…somewhere quieter. Would that be all right?”

Chloe checks the time, and nods. “Sure. I have a little while before work still. I don’t mind going to your place, of course, as long as it isn’t a total bachelor pad…” She winked, and Garrus chuckled.

“It’s _clean_ , if that’s what you’re implying. Come on. I don’t want to make you late for work.”

They traveled on the elevator together in silence. Garrus worked out what to say as they travelled. It wasn’t really necessary to tell her the whole story, the parts about the Reapers and the war. That could come out when this was all over, and it was probably safer for both of them that he left it out. Hopefully, she’d still believe him without any of the context.   
They arrived at his level, and he opened the door to his apartment and ushered her in. He became suddenly conscious of just how small and dark it was in there. Quickly, he powered on the sim-window, filling the space with a comfortable blue glow. “Here, uh. Take a seat.” He gestured to the only seat in the room. It was, fortunately, a fairly generic chair, designed for use by almost any biped.  
“Oh, thank you,” She said graciously, and sat. She looked at him attentively. “So, Garrus. What is this mysterious favor you’ve called me here to ask? I must admit, you’ve quite piqued my curiosity.”

“Right. Well, it’s a bit of a long shot, but I’ve begun a rather ambitious…project, recently. I find myself in need of resources. Specifically…I need to clone someone. And I was wondering if you would be able to point me in the right direction, as I have no idea how to make that happen.”

The doctor nodded, slowly. “May I ask who you are looking to clone?”

Garrus hesitated. He’d told her this much. If she was going to help, she needed to know.  
“John Shepard,” he said.

She took in a sharp breath, but nodded again after a second. “I have a lot of questions.”

“I can’t answer all of them, but ask away.” He’d rather expected this. She was taking it pretty well so far, actually.

“Why do you want to clone Commander Shepard?”

Garrus chose his words carefully. “I believe…that if we can create the physical body, there is a way to bring him back. Recent events have brought me to believe that he is not dead, just…well, he’s not dead. It’s hard to explain. I know it sounds completely insane—trust me, I’ve been through that questioning process—but this is real.”

“Fair enough. I’m not saying I understand, but my next question: do you have a DNA source?”

“Not yet. But the case of his disappearance is still technically open, and there is an evidence file in C-Sec containing his blood. It wouldn’t be impossible to gain access to it.”

“Is this legal?”

“well, it’s not _illegal_.” 

She’s quiet for a moment, clearly thinking this over. Garrus flexes his hands nervously, but waits. A minute passes.

Finally, Chloe speaks again. “Would Shepard consent to this?”

“He already has,” Garrus said immediately.

She looks into his eyes, judging his sincerity. He does not break the gaze.   
“All right.”

“You’ll help, then?” He feels momentarily relieved.

“Yes, I’ll help you, in what ways I can. I can’t provide most of what you’d need, unfortunately. I’m a medical doctor, not a lab technician. Huerta Memorial does not have the resources to clone a human. I’m not actually aware of anywhere on the Citadel that would. It’s not a common practice, and in sapient species it is usually rather looked down upon. It can be done, but there is some moral conflict as to whether or not this creation is proper. Now, I won’t pass judgement one way or the other on this particular issue. If you think we could bring your friend back in this way I think it is worth a try. But you must understand that there are a great many obstacles you will encounter in attempting this, and I will only be able to help you with a handful of them. Finding your way around the rest, you will have to do yourself.”

Feeling a little disappointed, Garrus nods. It didn’t look like he’d be able to pull this off from home after all. “So, what can we do, then?”

“I’m sure I am not the only one you have contacted about this. I know you, you will move mountains to achieve what you think must be done. So, when you have located your resources, I will assist you in preparing and delivering the genetic data that they will need to complete the project. I’m sorry it isn’t more, but this is outside the realm of my expertise.”

“I kind of figured it would be something like that. I’m grateful that you’re willing to do something to help, though, really. Ah, I’m not sure I understand what that is, though. Is the blood sample not going to be enough?”

“No, it will be fine. The only issue is the storage. It’s not much, but it would be safer if the sample were isolated in something designed for a medical purpose, rather than just storage. It’s not the kind of thing you would want to trust to the postal service unprotected.” She shrugged. “To be honest, I wish I could do something else for you. My job at the hospital is very nice, but I miss working in the wards, and feeling like I made a difference. Huerta has become a little too monetized for my liking. So…if anything else comes up, let me know. I think this could even be a little exciting, no?” She smiled hopefully.

“Yeah, it is. Heh. Thanks for listening. I will let you know if there’s anything else. And, one more thing…”

“Yes?”

“It would be best if you didn’t mention this to anyone. Until it’s all over. I just don’t want any of the wrong attention drawn this way, if you know what I’m saying.”

“Of course. I understand, and I appreciate your trust. I won’t let you down, Gary.”

~~**~~

After some brief parting words, Chloe went on her way to work. The interaction hadn’t been what Garrus had hoped, but it was a start. He had another ally, now. The plan was officially underway. The first steps had been taken.  
Speaking of first steps, Garrus checked his mail. As he expected, he’d already received a reply from Liara regarding his and Tali’s messages. It was short; a single sentence.

_Call me. –Liara_

Well, no time like the present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was the lesbian joke necessary? In a word: yes.
> 
> Also funfact: I didn't like Chloe until I started writing her. Now, I think she is a sweetheart.


	14. Liara

Garrus entered Liara’s comm address apprehensively. This was a crucial point in the proceedings of the plan. If she didn’t believe him, or would not help for whatever reason, things were going to become a lot more difficult.  
She answered on the first ring.

“Garrus.” Her smooth voice flowed clearly through the connection. She did not, to his relief, sound upset. 

“Liara.” He wasn’t sure what to say. Didn’t want to make the wrong move.

“Can we switch to video? I’d like to be able to see each other for this conversation, if it’s all right.”  
This wasn’t an unusual request. Many people preferred vidcalls, so that they could pick up on non-verbal communication and nuances in tone that were otherwise unnoticeable through speech alone.

“Sure, hang on…” He maneuvered over to the video option and selected it, the holographic screen quickly bringing the Asari’s face into focus. “There we go.”

She spoke as soon as the camera connected.  
“Is what you and Tali’zorah told me true?” It was hard to be sure with the screen between them, but he was sure she was watching his eyes. As the Shadow Broker, she’d become exceptionally good at reading faces. Ascertaining when those she spoke to believed their own words. 

“Yes, it is.” He spoke with conviction. He knew she’d see that.

Her eyes flickered across his for a moment. Then, she spoke.

“By the Goddess. He’s alive.” She smiled, finally, her cerulean face lighting up with fond relief.   
“If it were anyone else, I’m not sure I could believe it. But our Shepard always was one for miracles, wasn’t he?”

Garrus let out a breath of relief, smiling with her. “Yeah. Yeah, he is.” 

“This is incredible. I had of course wondered what had happened there at the end, but I’d never imagined anything like this. The Reapers and the Catalyst were…creations of some unknown past species? The historical implications of this are astounding. There’s a hundred lifetimes of mystery to be unraveled here. When we get the Commander back, I’ll have to ask him if he has any further information. Being fused with such a massive, ancient consciousness will surely have given him a unique perspective…”

“So, you’re going to help us with the plan?”

“Absolutely,” She answered immediately. “I’ve looked over what you two have sent me, and the basics seem pretty sound. I have a few quibbles here and there, with the QEC and such, but I can send those all to you later. I’ve got a doc pulled up and I’ve been making notes as I think of them. I’ve already located Miranda—I have been keeping tabs on all the old crew, just in case—I just wanted to talk to you and Tali before I committed to anything.”

“’keeping tabs’? Liara, have you been spying on us?” he joked. (He’d been doing that more often, lately. Joking. Shepard and the crew had always brought out the social animal in him.)

“I would never!” She gasped, mock-offence written all over her expression. “I just like knowing where everyone is. I miss being in touch with them, sometimes, and the galaxy’s changed so much since the end of the war…we risk losing all we’ve gained with each other in the chaos. The Batarian rebellions, the unrest on Tuchanka, everyone rebuilding and arguing over supplies and territory…all the rumors flying around. It’s a mess out there. I just want to make sure not to lose you.” She had a point. It made Garrus wish he’d spent more time keeping up with everyone. It just wasn’t his nature, like it was hers. 

“Anyway. That’s all I really wanted to say through the comm. I’ll get back to you about Miranda as soon as I can, and message you my suggestions. We really should have a better name for this than just ‘the plan’…hm. I’ll think about it. Keep me appraised of your situation over there, let me know if Shepard gives you any more information or if you come up with something new. And Garrus?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for having me be a part of this. One more adventure... I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

“Liara. It’s you we should be thanking. It’s… good to be hearing from everyone again. I really think we can pull this off.”

“We will. We’ve done crazier stuff before, after all.” Now, that’s for damn sure. “I’ll be in touch, my friend.”

“I look forward to it. Till next time.” He moves to terminate the call.

“And Garrus!” 

“What?”

“Don’t miss tonight’s episode of _Avanna_. I heard it’s going to be very dramatic.”

He laughed. “Aren’t they all? Besides, I’m still pretending I don’t watch that show. I’ll talk to you later, Liara.” He hung up. It was time to get back to work here on the Citadel. He had a theft to investigate.

(But he made a mental note to be home in time to catch that episode.)


	15. Businessmen, Beggars, Shoppers and Swindlers

Sometimes, working freelance was a pain in the ass. All the drudgery of regular policework, and no one to farm it out to but yourself. Sure, you could cut a few more corners, but a dozen interviews was a dozen interviews, and having a badge to back you up could really help to speed things up. Garrus became acutely aware of this fact as he again took to the streets of the lower wards, questioning as many merchants as he could find. He targeted major players at first, semi-legal arms dealers and the like, but soon spread to questioning every shop owner short of the food trucks. The avenues down here were always busy, and today was no exception. With no night/day cycle, the wards never sleep. It’s just a constant stream of businessmen, beggars, shoppers and swindlers, with no end in sight. But Garrus knew these people. He wove through the crowds towards his targets with practiced ease.  
Most traders and merchants were quite willing to gripe to an offered ear about problems they were having, especially if it meant a potential solution to said problems. Minor variations in stock were fairly common in the dingier establishments here: embezzlement, fraud and downright theft of small items by unscrupulous employees were par for the course. Multiplanetary businesses fared better, as they had a larger and better vetted employment pool, but no one was immune. 

So as Garrus talked his way through his list of merchants, he was unsurprised to hear a majority of them complain about some manner of missing stock. Most of them passed it off as computer error or thrifty employees, but a few had actually reported the losses to C-Sec, to no avail. A particularly incensed weapons trader named Althar Borgiss was especially vocal about this failing. Apparently, an entire shipment of assorted munitions had gone missing from one of his cargo freighters recently. He was convinced that the theft had occurred on the Citadel itself, since according to him there was nowhere else it could have gone: the shipment had been checked in as present during loading, but was missing once it reached its destination. C-sec had argued that since the missing goods were only discovered once they were off-site, that they had no jurisdiction on the matter, and had declined to help.  
Borgiss seemed quite happy to inform Garrus what he thought of that, punctuating his emotional outburst with occasional shakes of his fist, which might have been threatening if he had not been a particularly diminutive Volus.

Besides that one shipment of guns and heat clips, the items he found to be missing in any significant amounts seemed to be completely unrelated to what he’d expect a militant pirate group’s interests to be. Or any of the other known gangs on the Citadel, for that matter. His contacts had reported a wide array of mysteriously vanished supplies: medical and laboratory equipment, mechanical parts, hydroponic farming gear, levo-amino emergency rations, replacement parts for a sophisticated large-scale water filtration unit, some kind of industrial-grade tactical paint, solder, an Eezo scanner designed for use in mining operations, and an oxygen supercompressor.  
The minute scale of the disappearances alone was enough to imply a series of isolated incidents. Surely no organization, even as relatively small as the pirate fleet, could profit from such insignificant thefts. Even the collection of items on its own was not enough to amount to anything. But even so, Garrus couldn’t shake the feeling that they were somehow connected to something sinister. You wouldn’t be able to build a formidable fleet from the ground up with these materials, but it could certainly give a boost to something that already existed, if it was small.

On a hunch, he visited c-sec headquarters once he’d made his rounds. The list of missing items had included a number of foreign repair parts for ships which were not commonly used in Citadel space. Logging into the database, he checked the records for incidents including vessels of these models. The results did not give him any comfort.  
In the years after the Reaper war ended, the majority of the reports on file that included those ships were records of pirate attacks, and citations to Batarian cruisers suspected of involvement in criminal activity. While it was still possible that the theft of the parts had been unrelated to the rest of the missing materials, it seemed unlikely that it was not perpetrated by the same organization. The method, while not typical of the pirates’ usual run-and-gun style of crime, was consistent over all of the observed cases: small losses, no evidence of a break-in, and like the case of the mining equipment, most were perpetrated using the company’s own keys or codes. It was a solid hunch, and a worrisome one, at that. And whether he liked it or not, it was the kind of thing he’d have to report to Captain Bailey.

~~**~~  
The war had been tough on everyone, and Armando-Owen Bailey was no exception. Following its resolution, a still-recovering Commander Bailey resigned from his position on the Citadel, returning to Earth for ‘retirement’ and an attempt to find his estranged wife and son. Happily for him, both were still alive; having both evacuated their cities before the destruction began. Not quite as happily, they soon discovered that a successful marriage was still not in the cards for their family. So after only a year of this so called retirement, he returned to the Citadel a divorcee and was reinstated as Captain: a rank he much preferred over Commander. More hands-on.  
He was actually much happier now than the station had ever seen him. A divorcee he may be, but he was a relieved one at that. The separation had actually been relatively amicable and he’d finally been able to get back in touch with his son and begin to repair their relationship. David-Owen Bailey was a clean-cut young man of 23 and a proud member of the Alliance military, much to his mother’s worry and his father’s pride. The Captain kept a photo of the boy on his desk now, always dust-free and visible to anyone who visited his offices. 

It was at this photo that Garrus stared as he waited for the man to finish a bored-sounding phone call to his superiors. Garrus liked Bailey—if it hadn’t been for him, the Turian would most likely not have been able to operate as freely (or legally) as he did alongside c-sec. The captain was a man after results and not at all interested in bureaucracy. He allowed Garrus to operate how and when he liked, providing he didn’t break too many rules or necks in the process and reported in at least once a week. It was a sweet deal, and he was all too happy to comply.

Bailey finished up the call, and disconnected it with an irritated flick of his wrist. 

“Damn check-ins. I wonder if the muckety-mucks up there have any idea how much work we’d get done if they weren’t constantly callin’ in to harangue me for somethin’ or other. Now, Vakarian, what’s so important that you’ve come for an in-person visit? I’m flattered, but I’ve got to admit, you have me a little worried.”

“Sir,” Garrus started respectfully. “I’ve been tracking the activities of that suspected Batarian smuggling ring in the lower wards, and I believe I’ve found something of interest.

“Christ, we’ve been trying to nail those guys for months. I hope you have something concrete.”

“Well…not concrete yet, no,” Garrus admitted. Bailey crossed his arms. “But if I’m right, this could be a symptom of a larger issue. I’ve been investigating a series of small-scale thefts, ranging from farming equipment to tactical gear. It’s nothing major, and like I said, the thefts are small—most of them haven’t even been reported. But they all share a common methodology, and I checked up on some of the missing parts. They tie in directly to ships used in criminal situations by the pirates before. I think they’re working on something we don’t know about, Captain.”

Arms still crossed, but his brow furrowed in thought, Bailey nodded. “All right,” he said. “Do you have any leads? Any evidence besides the ships?”

This…is where it gets a little sticky. It was still just a hunch, after all. “There’s a security video showing two unidentified plantigrade bipeds stealing some mining equipment in a case that I believe to be related. I…haven’t looked into the others extensively, yet, but so far, there are no suspects. These incidents have been surprisingly stealthy. But that’s part of why I believe them to be connected.”

“’Stealthy’ isn’t generally part of these people’s vocabulary.”

“That’s all the more reason I think we should be concerned. Something might have changed.” Garrus gestured, a little hopelessly. The more he thought about this, the more he thought he was right, but with this little to go on…

Finally, Bailey uncrossed his arms and leaned forward. “Garrus, you’re one of the most efficient parts of our department, even considering your unofficial status as a member. If you think that there’s something up out there, I believe you, but I can’t justify allocating any men to a theory without more evidence. We’re stretched pretty thin as it is here, you know that. All I can do right now is to urge you to file a report and keep looking into it. Until you have more than a ‘ninja pirates’ theory…”

Garrus rolled his eyes.

“…Sorry. Until you’ve got _proof_ of your ninja pirates, you’re gonna be on your own. Keep me appraised of the situation, detective. I’ll make a note to forward you anything that looks relevant. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now get back out there and figure this out. I have some more boring calls to make.”

Garrus headed out, disappointed in the lack of backup but unsurprised. The department did have rules and regulations to follow if they wanted to get anything done, even if he didn’t. As Bailey had suggested, he filed a preliminary report before leaving headquarters. He also accessed the security cams in the areas he’d ear-marked as part of the list of crimes, and downloaded them so he could sift through the hours of footage at home. If there was some one group behind this, as he’d suspected, he was going to find them, and he was going to get to the bottom of their plans. That much was for sure.

He was also going to find out what the hell a ‘ninja’ was. Damn humans and their highly specified vocabularies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note to self: re-read list. Tie in? Make shit harder for protags. Really mess 'em up.


	16. Sightings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ohhhh jeeezus its 1am and my sinuses are saying 'stop this now'
> 
> BIG NOTE TO SELF: Space this chapter out!!! it's too dense, you fool!

He continued investigating the strange string of thefts for the next few weeks, doing little but scan news feeds, trawl the wards searching for clues or witnesses, check his mail, and keep up with Tali and Liara.  
And to be honest, he was getting a little impatient. The security footage he’d downloaded from c-sec had turned up a few frames of what appeared to be the same perps: flat-footed bipeds, solo or in groups of two, slipping in and out of their target victims’ businesses quietly. The only thing of note was that in the latest video they had been wearing a different type of armor. It looked like a higher grade than that they’d had in the previous videos, and the build looked eerily familiar to Garrus, though he couldn’t put his finger on why. The armor was a flat, matte black that seemed to suck up light. It made him uneasy.  
Other than that, there had been no significant leads. There had been a few more reports of stolen items (more guns, varied lab equipment), and at one point on his rounds, Garrus swore he caught sight of someone wearing that black armor. He gave chase, but the person disappeared before he could catch up. On top of that, Liara told him that she hadn’t been able to get more than an e-message out to Miranda. The clock was ticking on the plan, and Garrus was more than ready to grab Shepard’s DNA sample out of lockup and get it to _someone_.  
Tali, on the other hand, seemed to be doing fairly well. As they’d discussed, she had secured a ship for their eventual journey to their rendezvous with the last Reaper. It wasn’t heavily armed or shielded, but it would do the job for what they had planned. Garrus agreed that it was by all accounts better to use their own transportation, but he still thought it would have been nice to have Joker and EDI in on this. Or maybe he just missed the Normandy and all her sweet, sweet calibrations. Either way, he couldn’t wait to get this all over with, or even just begun. 

Checking the news so often was getting to him, he thought. There were a lot of worrisome reports coming in from outside the station. Apparently, things on Tuchanka especially had taken a turn for the worse in the past week: Even though Clan Urdnot was more or less the uncontested leaders of the Krogan now, one clan remained stubborn, refusing to be assimilated or agree to Urdnot’s comparatively moderate beliefs. They called themselves the Rachakk, and were self-proclaimed champions of the old ways. That is: wanton violence, subjugation of females, unchecked nuclear warfare, and mindless expansionism, all in one fun package. That Wrex had not been able to wipe them out yet was worrisome enough, but there was a rumor that these belligerents intended to break free from their home planet and start a new Krogan empire of their own, free to wreak as much havoc as they desired once off their homeworld and away from Wrex’s direct influence. Nothing had really happened yet, but many reporters and political theorists were predicting a ‘Krogan Schism’ or small-scale civil war, and that wouldn’t be good news for anyone. Garrus spared a moment to think about Wrex. Knowing him as he did, he knew there was no way something like this would be allowed to take place without serious consequence. If they had to go to war, they would. But Wrex was the last of his friends he’d ever have to worry about. That Krogan was one tough nut, and it would take more than a little civil war to crack his shell. Still, the reports didn’t help him sleep at night, that was for sure.

Another story that deeply concerned Garrus had just broken earlier that day. Somewhere out in the Traverse, a small human colony had gone missing. A population of 200 vanished within a week. It had been primarily a small research station, and about half of the people working there had been scientists, developing advanced medical and biotic technology for a private company. Of course, the events of four years ago still relatively fresh on everyone’s minds, there were a lot of people insisting that it must be the Collectors again. But while the colony’s characteristics fit this pattern—remote location, only humans were targeted, a sudden disappearance—the method of abduction was obviously vastly different. Where the Collectors had left no trace of their presence, and seemingly taken the entire population at once, at the site of this even there had been signs of a violent struggle. No bodies remained, but tossed tables, bullet holes and bloodstains told their own story. Someone had taken these people, but it definitely wasn’t the Collectors.  
Still, this had prompted brave news agencies to tentatively reach out and search for the remaining Reapers, to assure the populace that this wasn’t the beginning of another extinction-level event. This was the part that particularly worried Garrus. It’s not that missing scientists and mass abduction wasn’t already terrible news, but anything to upset the balance the galaxy had set with the Reapers now could severely complicate the plan to save Shepard. Fortunately, nothing had happened to make him believe there would be an immediate issue. News stations had some distant footage of Reaper sightings, but so far there hadn’t been any further investigation. There had honestly been very little to see: there were no longer any Reaper ships near populated planets or commonly used mass relays. The only ones they’d managed to spot was a couple that was repairing the Omega 4 relay, and a distant group headed towards the center of the galaxy. Speculation about their activities was rife, considering both locations had history with the Collectors, but so far no one had made a move to interfere. Garrus kept an eye on the feed and prayed that it would remain that way.  
Most of all, over the last few weeks, he wished he had a way of communicating with Shepard. The knowledge that he wasn’t dead, not really, had brought him such elation in the days after the revelation, but after that…it was all the more difficult. He missed the man even more now than he had before. He longed to hear his voice again. To talk with him. Have his input on the plan. Even with Tali and Liara on his side, it was lonely going.  
Shepard had told him that anything entered into a public terminal was accessible to him, so sometimes Garrus found himself aimlessly typing in coded updates on the plan into their user interface, hoping it was reaching his friend:

_Liara’s in. GV_

_Tali secured transport for the final op. Still not sure if we should have let Joker in. GV_

_Reporters keeping an extra eye on you. Watch out. GV_

_I miss you. Wish we could talk. GV_

He was a little unsure he should have entered that last one, but the lack of response was as emboldening as it was discouraging. Still. It helped a little to feel like Shepard might still be there, getting these messages, silently existing in the station all around him.

~~**~~

And so he watched, and waited, and investigated, until he finally he got a break. He’d been about to head out for the day, continuing his relentless search for answers, when he received the vidcall. He hadn’t expected it, but there she was.

“Miranda,” he greeted her.

“I heard you’ve been looking for me, Garrus Vakarian.”  
She looked much the same as she always had. He wondered where the four years between this meeting and their last had taken her. _Or more likely, where she has taken it,_ he amended. He decided he wasn’t altogether sure he wanted the answer.

“It’s nice to see you too,” he said, resorting to sarcasm out of habit. He was a bit caught off guard, to be fair. He’d expected Miranda to contact Liara, not him, as she’d been the one to reach out to her. In fact, how had Miranda even gotten this number? 

She spoke up, cutting into his musings. “I would have called sooner, but I’ve been a bit…occupied. I don’t have much time for small talk, unfortunately. But Liara said it was very important. Something about cloning? What are you up to?”

Garrus knew she had the message from Liara memorized word-for-word. The woman had a goddamn photographic memory. She wanted to hear it from him, then. Well.  
“Yes. Did she tell you about Shepard and the plan? We need you. You were the lead on the Lazarus Project. If anyone can help us clone Shepard, to bring him back, it’s you.”

“She did tell me,” admitted Miranda. “But I’m going to need a lot more detail than she gave me to go along with this. You’d better give it to me from the top.”

And so he did. Garrus explained the messages in the subtitles, the Keepers, the hologram, what Shepard had told him about the war…everything. It didn’t take as long as he expected, this time. Practice makes perfect, he supposed. Or something like that.

“And you, Tali, and Liara are all in on this?” She asked finally, when he had explained it all to her satisfaction.

“Yes.”

“Then…count me in, too. It would be pretty gratifying to be known as the woman who brought hero John Shepard back to life twice, now, wouldn’t it?”

Garrus laughed, relieved. He bobbed his head in acknowledgement. “It would be, indeed. Thank you. I don’t think we could have done this without you, Miranda.”

“Probably not.” She smirked. “And fortunately for you, I know exactly what we’ll need, and where to get it. You remember a scientist by the name of Brynn Cole? You would have met her on Gellix.”

Garrus thought for a moment. “Gellix…yeah, I remember. Jacob was there, too. We evacuated him and the team of scientists he was with. I thought they were studying Reaper technology, and then working on the Crucible, though. Wouldn’t we need biologists, not technicians?”

“Elements of their research were biological in nature. Almost all of them have the required training, and to be quite honest, I think I can pick up the slack, provided I have the proper equipment. I’m still in contact with the group. I don’t know if you heard, but Jacob actually married Dr. Cole not long after the war was over. The whole unit is officially with the Alliance, now, and they live and work on a research base in the far reaches of Alliance space. I can get there, and I think I can convince them to help us…”

A sudden thought occurred to Garrus. “This will be a pretty costly operation, won’t it? The Alliance isn’t exactly handing out favors, especially if they involve something like this. I don’t think I have to tell you that we aren’t planning on giving too many people details.”

“Normally, yes, it would prohibitively expensive, but I’ll cover it,” Said Miranda quickly.

“What. Really?” Garrus couldn’t quite hide his surprise.

“Don’t act so surprised. I’m allowed a little altruism without it ruining my reputation as a ‘calculating bitch’, don’t you think? Besides…Shepard helped me save my sister’s life, not to mention the entire galaxy. I think I can spot this one.” 

Garrus snorted. Seems Miranda had gained a sense of humor during the last few years. Or… maybe Tali was right, and she hadn’t been so bad, after all. “I’d offer to pay you back, but…I honestly don’t think I could.”

“Don’t feel like you owe me, or anything. This operation will have the distinction of being funded solely by my father’s inheritance. I’m just glad the dead bastard can finally be useful for something. It wasn’t too hard to get my hands on his assets, and I’ve been looking for something good to do with all this dirty money, anyway.”

Garrus…wasn’t going to touch that one. “Okay, then…”

Miranda looked away from her screen, clearly deciding it was time to wrap up the conversation.  
“Now, before I get going, we should discuss the matter of the genetic material needed for the operation. You say you can get it? Do I need to arrange a courier?”

“I think I have it covered. As for the sample itself, I can use my access to C-Sec to get it, should be no problem. Just give me the word, and I can arrange for it to be on its way.” 

“Perfect. Get the sample ready, I should finish up here and be on Entemia—that’s the planet our team is on, by the way—in a few days. I’ll be in touch.”

“Wait, just like that? How soon do I need to get this done? How can I contact you?”

“You can’t, I’m afraid. You’ll just have to trust me.” She looked away again, and reached towards the cam. “I’ve got to go now. Be ready, Garrus. If you’re serious about this, we’ve got to get started as soon as possible. Get the sample. I’ll let you know when it’s time.”

She cut the feed. 

Garrus stared at the blank screen for a few seconds. Weeks of almost zero progress, and now things were suddenly moving, and fast. It was a little jarring. He amended the day’s plan, opting to finally download the mobile mail app and type up a quick message to Chloe before heading out to scour the streets: 

_Chloe,_  
_I just found the resources I need for that project I told you about. They’ll be ready shortly. Are you still up for helping me transport the sample? Wanted to check with my resident expert before I went and got it. We can meet up again like we did before, or whatever works for you. Let me know ASAP. Thanks._  
_-Garrus_

He pressed send, feeling more hopeful than he had in days. He was making progress. It was time to find out who or what was behind those thefts. And then…it was time to get Shepard back.


	17. Shadows In The Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> need a punnier title for this one.

Garrus wove with renewed purpose through the crowding of the lower wards. He hadn’t had any particularly promising leads today, just checking in with his regulars and visiting an acquaintance, but for once he felt sure that the day was to be a productive one. If nothing else, he’d already begun work on his most important objective: finally starting the process to bring Shepard back. Alive, breathing, talking, and by his side.

Garrus accomplished the first part of his rounds easily. His second mission for the day, however, took him out of the way of his usual tramping grounds and out to the very edge of the Wards, where the enormous arm of the space station ended and vacuum began. The ‘acquaintance’ he was going to visit was one Gebbs Piktas, a shifty Salarian with a penchant for bootlegging and a passion for armor customization. Garrus had busted him for selling knockoff Kassa Fabrication gear a long time ago—before he even met Commander Shepard. Fake junk vendors weren’t usually the kind of perp that Garrus was interested in, but after a couple thrifty cadets were injured due to their supposedly top-quality armor providing little more protection than a block of wood, he’d stepped in. The Salarian had managed to squeeze by without jail time, but the indiscretion cost him a hefty fine and his vendor’s license. He’d moved off the Citadel shortly afterwards (Likely to continue his business elsewhere), but had returned in the chaos after the Reaper war—taking advantage, Garrus suspected, of how thin-spread C-Sec was, and how desperate the populace had become for a bargain.

Needless to say, he and Gebbs weren’t exactly on the best of terms.  
But he wasn’t going out to the bootlegger’s flat today to arrest him. The thing was, if you wanted a piece of armor, machinery or weaponry identified to the very make and model, you asked Geb. It was a longshot, but Garrus had brought the cam footage from the most recent thefts, hoping Piktas would be a Good Samaritan and help his community. It was in his better interests, after all. And if not… well, Garrus wasn’t above a little intimidation. 

As he approached the edge of the ward, the streets got dirtier and narrower. Like any city, even the wards had their slums, and these were it. Red paper lanterns illuminated 24-hour greasy spoons and capsule hotels, billboards flickered mockingly in the main avenues, and windowless high-density housing crowded the alleys. It made him a little claustrophobic, if he was honest. But he had work to do, and minor discomfort had never stopped him before.  
He squeezed down an alley to the two-story corner unit he knew to belong to the person he was looking for. The downstairs was a storefront, though it was shuttered right now: “Discount Munitions and More.” Yep, this was the place.  
Gebbs was a bit of a recluse, so Garrus was pretty much certain he’d be home. The faint light peeking out from the bottom of the shutters was a good clue, too. He banged on the door.

“Mr. Piktas, open up. I have a few questions for you.”

A muffled voice from the interior called out, obviously irritated.  
“We’re closed! This isn’t a tourist destination. You have questions, go ask Avina!” 

“You wouldn’t even answer a few for an old friend?”

A pause.

“I don’t have any old friends. And if I did, they wouldn’t be friends. Go away!”

He chuckled. Well. Looks like he was going to have to do this the hard way. A pity.  
“Gebbs, if you don’t open the door, I’m going to shoot it down…”

The voice inside answered quickly and petulantly. “Try it! I’ll have the cops on your ass before you can cut through an inch. That’s re-enforced polymer with thermal shielding, you aren’t getting through that with anything less than a dozen grenades. Fuck _off_.”

It looks like the crook had learned a thing or two since they last met. Thermal shielding? Expensive _and paranoid_. And also probably bullshit. Garrus groaned, and thudded his forehead against the door.

“We both know that calling C-Sec is the last thing you’d want to do, with all that knockoff crap you’re selling. Don’t make me arrest you again, Piktas. Open the door. I just want to talk.”

A series of frantic shufflings, a few crashes, and a number of muffled expletives later, the door was hoisted open, revealing a bedraggled Salarian.  
“ _UUUUUGH_ ,” he uttered, rolling his eyes backwards (It’s a little hard to tell when a Salarian is rolling their eyes at you, but in this instance it was fairly obvious). “It’s you. I’ll have you know, Vakarian, I’m running a completely legit business now. No funny stuff. If that’s what this is about, do us both a favor and leave me the hell alone for once. You C-Sec pussies have better things to do than hound innocent entrepreneurs like myself—“

Garrus interrupted the tirade quickly. “It’s not about the business unless you make it about the business, Geb. I just need an armor ID, and I know you’re the guy to talk to about things like that. Now, can I come in, or do I need to make a call...?” He inclined his head towards the interior. 

Gebbs narrowed his eyes.  
“Fine,” he spat. “But only because we’re _old friends_. Nice scar, by the way, really improves your face. Too bad they missed the rest.” He stepped aside begrudgingly, allowing Garrus entrance to the cluttered interior of the shop. He stepped in. It smelled like dust, gun oil, and week-old takeout.  
Lovely.  
“Thanks. It wasn’t for lack of trying, trust me. I’m just very persistent.”

“That’s for damn sure,” muttered the belligerent Salarian. He led Garrus to a back room, lit by an exposed light strip and packed with machining tools. “So. Let’s get this over with. You say you have a piece you want ID’d? Did you bring it, or are you just gonna draw me a picture?” He asked sarcastically.

“I didn’t bring it,” Garrus admitted, “But I’ve got a short clip here that shows a couple of figures wearing the item in question. It’s a little vague, I don’t know if you’ll be able to get anything off it…” He trailed off, leaving the bait hanging.

Gebbs snorted. “Please. You came to me. I can name any custom or commercial armor class in modern history from a single frame of your little display. Bring it on, copper.”

…And the fish was on the hook. “If you say so…” said Garrus, pulling up the video. It really was short: there was only a couple seconds of footage, and the perpetrators blended in so well with the shadows and midtones it had taken him a couple views to spot them in the first place. Gebbs eyed the action intently. “Replay it, pause at 00:01:50,” he demanded, once the video had ended. Garrus did. Gebbs rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and then nodded, decisive.

“Both figures are wearing nearly identical custom models. The base itself is a fairly old make, by today’s norm, circa 2185 or so; but have been brought up to modern standards using minor components that appear to be independently manufactured. Well, it’s either a custom, or a very, very specific set of repairs. Can’t tell without context. The most interesting thing about this armor is the color, though. The model itself may be old, but that black/grey coating? That’s state-of-the-art camo technology. Look at the way it refracts the light. It actually adjusts its reflectivity and tone based off of its environment. Cheaper than Chameleon suits, but still damn effective. I’m surprised you caught them at all, to be honest; spotting someone coated in this stuff is like picking a shadow out at night. Not…that I’m complimenting you.”

Garrus nodded. “Of course not. You would never. Anything more you can tell me about the base armor? Popularity, manufacturer, who used it… that kind of stuff. Anything about the paint, too.”

“Look, I already told you what you said you wanted…”

Garrus tilted his head, looking menacingly at the unkempt alien across from him. 

“…buuut since you’re an _old friend_ , I’ll tell you a little more. Then will you get off my damn property?”

“Of course,” Garrus said gravely. Well, he probably would.

Gebbs sighed dramatically. “Fine. Well, starting with the paint, there’s only one manufacturer, and very few shops on the Citadel sell it yet. Even I don’t have access to that stuff. It’s from Kepron Technologies LTD., they’re a pretty new group on the scene. Lots of exciting products. Not that you’d care.”

“And the armor?”

“It’s the Sterling Centurion model, from…I think Haribon Military Industries? You almost never see anything from them, not anymore. They produced very limited quantities of their products for private buyers pre-war, but I haven’t heard anything from them since. I’m certain that these pieces haven’t been in production for at least four years. Whoever’s buying these suits now is either a weird Haribon fanatic, or they don’t have any other options. That would explain the extensive customization…but not the high-grade camo coating. Who are these guys? You’re not going to make me testify to this shit in court, are you, because I’m not about to turn into a snitch, I don’t want any high-level mobsters on my ass, I got a business to run.”

Haribon Industries, huh? That… sounded awfully familiar, too. This was not giving him a good feeling. Garrus waved his hand. “Nope, nothing like that. You might as well just forget about it. Thanks for the help, Geb, I’ll be sure to send some flowers.” 

They walk back towards the door, Gebbs shooing Garrus out as fast as he can. “You can keep your damn flowers, asshole. I did my part. Now leave me in peace, will you?”

Garrus opened the door and stepped out, making to leave. But before Geb could close the door, he couldn’t help but lean back in, squeezing in one last dig at the petty criminal. “Fine, fine. But clean this place up, will you? It smells like a health hazard in here—“

As he moved to deliver that last jibe, the unmistakably deafening sound of a mass-effect-propelled projectile exploded past his left aural receptor (AN: Humans, read “ear”) and into the shop behind him, drilling a hole in the filthy floor, the shockwave knocking Garrus flat on his face. Gebbs yelled and recoiled back, cowering in surprise and fear at the sudden attack.  
Disoriented, Garrus pulled himself up onto his hands and knees, reaching for the side of his neck where a familiar piercing pain had rooted itself. He felt warm blue blood ooze from the lesion the bullet had torn there. It wasn’t life-threatening, but Garrus found himself desperately grateful for Turian clavicular anatomy. If it hadn’t been for the protective ring of metallic carapace and armor that encircled his neck, he’d likely be bleeding out right now. That had been a shot from a sniper. Someone didn’t like him asking questions. _Someone_ wanted him dead.

Pressing the sensation of pain to the back of his consciousness and fighting back the dizziness and shock, Garrus got to his feet in a second. The sniper was still out there, and judging by the angle of the shot, they hadn’t been too far away, probably in one of the neighboring high-rise’s rooftops. He spun around, scanning the places he knew would be best for a would-be assassin to nest.  
There. A flicker of movement, the glint of a rifle scope. The shooter wouldn’t risk taking another shot—not enough time. They’d run. And he was going to catch them.

Without a look back at the blue smear he’d left on the ground or the cowering Salarian, Garrus turned and ran towards the building he’d spotted. “Call C-Sec, Gebbs!” He shouted over his shoulder.

“C-c-call them yourself!” Shouted back a terrified Geb, slamming and re-locking the door of his shop. But Garrus was already across the street and swiftly hacking into a disused maintenance elevator. Activating his communicator as he worked, he indeed made a hurried call to c-sec headquarters. Firearm operation violations were a serious matter here—not to mention attempted murder. He spoke quickly.

“This is agent Archangel, calling for backup. Shots have been fired in District Zeta. I’ve been hit, but I’m up and pursuing the suspect. Activating personal locator beacon. I suspect a professional hit. Please copy.”

“Rodger that, agent Archangel. Activate your beacon and hold your location. Officers will be there s—“

He didn’t bother listening to the rest. The elevator doors opened, and he leapt inside, using his omni-tool to force it to run at emergency speeds. The journey to the rooftop was still too long for his liking. This was an important development. Whoever had put this hit out on him didn’t like what he was investigating. If he could catch the sniper, maybe he could finally tie together the thefts and solve this mystery once and for all. He winced. _Still bleeding, damn it,_ he though, and pressed down on the wound, retrieving his gun with his other hand. The elevator shuddered to a halt and the doors slid open. 

The rooftop was empty. Not even a bullet casing or a cigarette butt. Then he saw it—at the opposite end of the roof. A door was swinging slowly closed. He took off again, speeding towards it. _They may have a head start, but I’m awfully pissed off_ , thought Garrus darkly. He blew through the door before it managed to close, and began to hop down the steps inside as fast as he could. He looked around him, checking the first landing he reached for signs of the sniper. There were none. He continued, scanning the stairwell, beginning to think he’d lost them when—a flicker, a couple flights down. A shadow. Not out of sight yet, then. He pursued the ghostly shape down several more flights and then through a back door into a dead-end skyway. He paused momentarily when he reached the outside, clinging to the railing and feeling somewhat light-headed. He had to catch this person soon. Running full-out while still bleeding wasn’t exactly sustainable.  
Glancing to his left, he saw the shadowy figure of his assailant leaping off the skyway and free-falling the remaining 40 feet to the ground, before landing gracefully and rolling. Then, they stopped.

Fifty feet was a long damn way to fall, even for him. He was pretty sure he could make it unscathed—if he was lucky. But if he landed wrong? Well. He’d be doing the assassin’s job for them. They seemed to know that as they looked back at him, apparently to dare him to follow. Garrus made up his mind. He was feeling lucky.  
As soon as he went into motion to follow the figure over the rail, it took off again down an alleyway. _I could’ve sworn that alley was a dead end, if I can just stick this landing I can_ —and then he was falling.  
A forty foot jump takes a surprisingly long time to end, by the way. He had more than enough time to brace for impact. When it came, he was angled almost perfectly: he touched down, bent his knees, flexed his toes, and... stumbled. He didn’t fall on his face again, for which he was grateful, but the landing wasn’t quite as comfortable as he had hoped. He hopped a couple steps, hoping the pain in his leg would subside. It did, a little bit, and he resumed his charge towards the alley. He turned the corner sharply, not bothering to look around him. And there, at the end, was the person he’d been chasing, calmly standing in front of the dead end they’d both known was there.  
Garrus let out a heavy pant and raised his gun. “Hold it right there. You’re not gonna get out of this one.” He growled. 

The assassin was a slender human woman, wearing the same shimmering black armor that he’d just had identified. Her face was completely obscured by a matching black helmet, but he could feel her gaze fixed on him. Sirens sounded in the background, announcing the approach of backup. Perfect.

Garrus started closing in on her, gun steady. “Who are you. Who do you work for?” 

She merely stepped slightly to the side and cocked her head. Garrus spoke again, insistent. “If you don’t stop moving around, I won’t hesitate to—“

And then he found out why she stepped to the side.

A bullet ripped through his midsection from behind, knocking him down and leaving him gasping for breath and finding only blood. That…wasn’t good. Punctured lung. Not good. Someone behind him. A second shooter? Why? He used the last of his energy to scrabble at the ground, managing to turn his head to face his newest attacker. It was the same person. No…no, it wasn’t, it was a male, of the same exact height and build that the woman was, wearing the same black armor. He had a pistol in his hand, and a rifle on his back. A second shooter. Contingency. It had been a trap. _Stupid_. Fuck, he was blacking out. He couldn’t die here. He needed to save Shepard. He needed to tell him—

The woman walked by him, and linked arms with the man who had just shot Garrus. They were almost identical. In the haze of encroaching unconsciousness, he almost felt like he was seeing double. 

“Three heads hath I, and though one may be slain, the other two shall rise victorious.” She spoke, unmistakably smug. The two began to walk away.  
“Goodbye, Garrus Vakarian.”

Then, they vanished. And then Garrus was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY I USED THE WORD "PUSSIES" IN A DEROGATORY MANNER.....GEB IS A DOUCHE...I KNOW....
> 
> Note to self: edit sequences w/ armor in the future or edit this to keep the level of sneak consistent.


	18. Cards n' Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did I really, really need to get technical with bird/raptor anatomy? Yes. I did.
> 
> come up with a better gotdam title

He awoke, groggily, to low white light and the cloudy hubbub of mixed voices filtering in from behind a closed door. For a blissful moment, the world was disorganized. The aches he felt were distant and disconnected and memories were inconsequential. Of course, it didn’t last long.  
He groaned, feeling both completely relieved that he was alive and frustrated that he’d fallen so incautiously into a trap. Had C-Sec caught the shooters? Where was he? What happened to Geb? How long had he been out? He had important work to do. Miranda! She could already be on Entemia, waiting. He attempted to sit up, to find some answers in his surroundings, but was immediately halted by the pain in his side. It wasn’t crippling, but it certainly wasn’t something that he could ignore, either. Gingerly lowering himself back down to his elbows, he cast a glance about for his omnitool, or… anything, really.  
The room around him was small and clean, filled with state-of-the-art medical equipment neatly designed to fit in with the sparse furnishings. The entire wall to his left was a window overlooking the Presidium from on high. He was at Huerta Memorial Hospital, then. Where Chloe worked. Did she know he was here?  
His question was answered shortly when the door to his room slid open and Dr. Michel herself stepped through. 

“Ah, you’re awake, then,” She said dourly, looking up from her tablet. She sighed, and dropped her hands to her sides, walking towards where he lay.  
“You gave me a real fright, Mr. Vakarian. Seeing a friend’s name on the emergency patient list…never something I enjoy. If I weren’t a professional woman, I’d be reading you the riot act, I’ll have you know. I know you do dangerous work, but… a four-story free jump? I’d have thought you’d know better. _Especially_ with who’s depending on you right now.” She gave him a pointed look as she examined his charts and vitals.

“If this isn’t it, I’m definitely worried about what the _actual_ riot act would be,” he said, voice rough. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. I was only doing what had to be done—someone shot at me, you know. I wasn’t about to let that fly. Did they catch them, by the way? I think I was on the trail of something important.”

She shook her head. “I’m afraid I haven’t heard anything. Save it for the de-brief, Garrus. We can catch up once you’ve healed. I got your message, by the way. We’ll work that out later too.”

Sighing, Garrus sank back down, turning slightly to the side as resting directly on the back wasn’t a comfortable position for most Turians. “How long was I out?” He asked, reaching up to feel the bandage on his neck.

“Only about a day. You were lucky, I heard that your surgery went well.”

He hadn’t lost too much time, then. The plan was still on track. Good. “How bad was I—“

Chloe didn’t look at him, still focused on the readouts by his bedside. She held out a finger to silence his query. “I’m not actually your doctor, Garrus. I don’t have that much experience with alien physiology. I’m technically on my break right now—the Turian specialist will be in to tell you all to need to know once I leave. I am only here to make sure you’re all right.” She looked up, finished with what she was doing, and caught his eye.  
“You are all right, aren’t you?”

Garrus laughed, and then immediately stopped once he realized that it wasn’t the most comfortable thing to do at the moment. “Hhhhhoooo. Yeah. I’ll be fine, Chloe. I’ve had worse than this. Rocket to the face, remember? Besides, I thought the doctor was supposed to be the one telling me if I’m fine or not.” He joked. 

She smiled. “He will. But I wanted to hear it from you first. I’ll check up on you later, Gary.”

“Thanks, doc.”

She moved to walk out of the room, and he remembered suddenly that he still didn’t have any of his tech. Bedridden or not, he at least wanted to be able to check his mail and play Pong. (Yes. They still have Pong in 2190.) “Hey, could you ask someone to send in my omnitool? And my visor. I feel naked without it.”

She replied over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “In this case, you are mostly naked without it. I’ll ask for it to be delivered.”

Looking down at himself, Garrus realized she was right. He hadn’t been given the dignity of anything other than a pair of crisp, flimsy hospital pants and a white blanket. He groaned. _Another perfectly good piece of armor ruined by a bad guy with a vendetta. Damn._  
“And have ‘em give me a shirt, at least, too!” 

~~**~~

After a thorough check-up by the specialist and a visit from some C-Sec officers who wanted his statement on the incident, Garrus was equipped with a shirt, his visor and omni-tool, and answers to most of the questions he’d had. He’d indeed been unconscious for about 20 hours, the Citadel equivalent of a day, and had sustained multiple injuries for which the hospital wanted to keep him under observation for the next 40. 

The neck injury had been the least severe. It had torn a number of sub-scutal blood vessels, which caused a good amount of bleeding, but no real lasting damage besides the possibility of yet another scar. Despite of, or perhaps due to, its relative innocuity, it also hurt the most. Having a scute torn off was incredibly unpleasant, but the most effective treatment was a simple medi-gel patch, which could really only do so much. Most medi-gel was designed with a more fleshy epidermis in mind, rather than the thick, metallic skin that Turians had. It still sped the healing process and stopped infection or further bleeding, but re-growth of individual scales still took a couple days on average, and was distinctly uncomfortable. It was also itchy. 

The main issue was, of course, the bullet he’d taken to the lung. Whoever had shot him had either been very lucky or very smart, and Garrus’s bet was on smart. His armor had the most reinforcement around the heart and lungs, but the midsection was less protected and more flexible. Only a shot carefully angled and aimed from slightly below could have done this. He’d been lucky that backup had been so close. A minute more, and he’d likely have drowned in his own blood. That wasn’t something he particularly wanted to contemplate. Fortunately, with the aid of modern medicine, he was all patched up and breathing fine, the only remnant of the injury being the very sore spot that acted up whenever he sat up. Or laughed. Or talked too much. Or… breathed too hard. He wasn’t looking forward to the next two days. Lying around and recovering had never been his favorite thing. Hopefully, he’d be able to argue his way out of the second day, and be able to recuperate at home, in peace.  
Of course, even if they had let him get up and about immediately, he had also been informed that his left tarsometatarsus had been fractured due to the impact of falling 40 feet. That wouldn’t take too much longer at all to fully heal, but the doctors here were awfully picky about their patients—especially “public servants” like himself—having an adequate recovery period. And, well. It wouldn’t exactly be a thrill to walk on until it was healed anyway.  
As for the mysterious twins in black who had put him through all this trouble… there was no trace. When the officers had arrived at the scene, Garrus was the only one there. Of course, they searched the area, and pulled cam footage from the surrounding neighborhood, but no one besides him had seen neither hide nor… well, armor, of the assassins. District Zeta was primarily residential, and despite its sketchy appearance, was not a particular hot spot for criminal activity. It was regularly patrolled, but there were few security feeds, and those there were had caught only shadows as evidence. His assailants might as well have been ghosts. Still, it wasn’t a total loss. The mere fact that someone (or someones) had gone to the trouble of trying to kill him while he’d been investigating the thefts gave his hunch a bit more credibility. With that, and the additional information he’d collected, it was possible that Bailey would agree to open a formal investigation, or even recommending stricter surveillance protocol for the wards. That would be especially important if Garrus was to be out of commission for the next few days, and afterwards, if he were to be on leave attending to his work on the Plan.  
As for Geb, once it was discovered that his ‘Discount Munitions and More’ was the location the original shot had been fired, the frantic Salarian had been forced to let forensic documenters scour the entryway. As a consequence, they’d discovered evidence of the sale of a number of bootleg items. This led them to examine Geb’s criminal history, which in turn resulted in a fine and the loss of yet another vendor’s license. Poor devil. Garrus couldn’t quite bring himself to feel sorry for him. He did, however, lament the fact that he’d probably never get to ask him for another favor.

Which brought him to his only unanswered question. He’d informed the de-briefing officer of his ongoing investigation into the small-scale thefts, and the information he’d acquired from Piktas regarding the armor in the surveillance videos. Haribon Military Industries…there was just something that didn’t sit right about that name. Something he remembered. He’d asked that it be looked into, the department’s databases accessed for any information regarding that company’s past. There was no information yet, and any searching on the extranet only uncovered evidence that it had once existed, but not any longer.

After a day of lying in bed, Garrus expected to feel much more restless. But after all the poking, prodding, questioning and explaining, he found himself quite tired. He almost forgot to check his mobile mail before settling down to rest. He still wasn’t used to being able to do that. He had, of course, a rather large number of unread messages. A couple from c-sec, one informing him that he was expected to check in at headquarters once he’d recovered, and another from Bailey himself, expressing concern in his usual pleasant manner: berating Garrus for not waiting for backup, and for going into the situation without telling someone in the first place. Not in the mood to answer that one at the moment, he simply skimmed it and archived it. One message from public health services, informing him that his care was being covered by the intergalactic police union. And, of course, messages from Liara, Tali, and Chloe, expressing their concern, and one from an unidentified address which upon closer examination appeared to be from Miranda. 

Putting off his curiosity for the time being, Garrus opted to open the messages from Liara and Tali first.

_Garrus, a contact of mine has informed me that you were seriously injured in the line of duty. There was no indication that the damage was terminal, but I am concerned, nonetheless. I will be monitoring the situation from here, of course, but please call or message me as soon as you are able. I do not wish to lose another friend, especially when we are so close to regaining an old one. We need you, Garrus. I’ve also informed Tali’Zorah of what I’ve learned, as I believe it is the responsible thing to do between friends. She is very worried about you as well. May the Goddess be with you, and may your healing be swift._  
_Much affection,_  
_Liara._

Garrus frowned. He rather wished Liara had kept the information to herself. There really was nothing to worry about, but now Tali was going to be stressing about it until he assuaged her that he was indeed all right. He opened the next message, already mentally composing a comforting reply.

_Liara told me that you’ve been hurt! She says it isn’t serious, but I don’t think she’d tell me, if it was. Garrus, let me know as soon as you can that you’re all right. I can’t lose you like this. Not you and Shepard. I know we hadn’t communicated much before recent events, but believe me when I say that I value your presence in my life as I would a brother’s. You’ll be in my thoughts. Please be OK. Don’t make me come over there, bosh’tet. Tali._

He crinkled his eyes in a smile. As much as he hated having people worry about him, he really did appreciate having such sincere friends.  
Recognizing the need to reassure these two as soon as he could, Garrus tapped out a short reply to them both before moving on. He needed them at their best if they were going to go into action on this plan anytime soon. And that meant no unnecessary stressors. 

_Everything’s all right, we’re still on-track as far as I’m concerned. Yes, I was shot, but I’m recovering just fine. There’s nothing to worry about. I’m still in the hospital right now, but I’ll get back to you later with more details. Just work being work, mostly. Hazards of doing the right thing I guess. We’ve all been there. Thanks for the concern. You are both great allies and great friends. I’m just going to try to get some rest and heal up as fast as I can._  
_-Garrus_

He hit send, blinking away his sudden weariness. Just going to read these next two. Reply later. Maybe the doc had been right about making him stay in the hospital…he was definitely feeling fatigued. Healing was serious business, modern medicine or not. The next message was from an anonymous sender, but the header—update on Entemia—made him feel fairly certain it was from Miranda. 

_I’ve just received word that you were injured. I am on my way to Entemia now, as we discussed, so let me know if this recent development affects the plan. Like I said before, we can’t really afford any delays in a process like this. Take care of yourself, and get that DNA as soon as you’re able. Stay in touch._  
_-M_

Yep, that was Miranda, all right. It was good to hear she was still onboard with the plan. As soon as they let him out of this hospital, he’d be back on track, and get into the Evidence lockup for the DNA sample. But for now…  
He’d rest. He’d heal. 

And so Garrus fell into a determined sleep.


	19. Road to Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter named after the Midnight Juggernauts song!

Despite arguing with the doctors about his release time, Garrus was kept for observation for the full 40 hours recommended—but not a second more. The very minute the 39th hour was up, so was he: limping slightly into the exit elevator with only the clothes on his back and a temporary, digitally fabricated crutch, which he had no desire to use.  
His belongings, including the damaged armor, had all been transferred to C-Sec to be examined as evidence, and would be returned to him shortly. They’d also offered him an escort from the hospital to his home, in light of the fact that the people who had tried to kill him were more than likely still on the station. He’d grudgingly agreed. A single officer couldn’t hurt, after all. He didn’t think that the black-clad twins would venture into the Presidium, or even his apartment complex. There had been no activity associated with them anywhere but the lower wards as of yet. But it didn’t hurt for someone to have your back, especially when you were still not quite sure your leg would hold up for anything more than a speedwalk for any length of time. 

The journey home was quiet and uncomfortable. Garrus didn’t know the officer who’d been assigned to escort him, and they weren’t talkative. Furthermore, he was wearing casual clothes in place of armor, which was something he hadn’t done for a long time in a public setting. Even with his visor and omnitool returned to him, he still felt exposed. He’d actually had to have someone go and retrieve the clothes from his home. He certainly wasn’t going to limp back to his rooms in hospital whites, after all. Still. He felt vulnerable. A little bit of fabric and plastic wasn’t going to protect him from anything: not bullets, not bumps, not stares. Fortunately, the walk to and from the shuttle was uneventful, and he’d arrived back home in no time.

Once the officer was gone, Garrus discarded the prefab crutch in the corner by his bed, and sat at his laptop to catch up with anything he’d missed. He’d given Miranda a short reply on the second day at the hospital, giving her what details he could, and assuring her he’d be back in action shortly. Well, shortly had become now, more or less. It was time to check in with C-Sec on the progress of the investigation. He’d prefer to do it in person, and planned to the next day, but he was impatient for an update. He hadn’t had the chance to check to see if he’d been sent one today yet, with all the bustle of getting back home.   
He had.  
It was the woman who’d debriefed him that first day, returning the results he’d requested into the origins of Haribon Military Industries. Eager to find an answer, he read the message quickly. And then he read it again. 

_Detective Vakarian,_   
_I did a database search of the company name you disclosed to me earlier, as requested. Haribon Military Industries was an independent human arms manufacturer until the mid-2160s, when it was bought by Cerberus in the and used as a front corporation until its destruction in late 2186. As neither Cerberus nor Haribon exists any longer, the presence of their products is most likely a result of someone finding a stockpile or hidden base. I’ve informed HQ and the matter will be investigated further. If the pirate gangs or any other criminal organization has gained access to this kind of surplus, it could mean serious danger to any operatives attempting to take them on. I don’t have any other updates for you yet, but I thought you’d like to know. You may have uncovered something important here. The Captain appreciates your work, and expects you to report to him as soon as you are recovered._   
_Respects,_   
_Deputy Cordova_

Cerberus. 

Of course, Cordova was probably right. Cerberus was done for—Cronos Station, their de facto headquarters, had been destroyed. He’d been there when it happened, there was no doubt. As for leadership the Illusive Man himself had been found dead a year later. Without a home base or anyone in command, the head had effectively been cut off the snake, and as far as anyone knew it had finally died. But… there was something about the way that these people were operating that just reminded Garrus a little too much of his past foes for him to discount the connection entirely. It was more likely that it was just a particularly well-organized pirate faction, though, he thought. The operating area he’d uncovered was their turf, and there had been no word on the streets of any new gangs or other criminal organizations muscling in. Just more of the same.

For the rest of the evening, Garrus took it easy and prepared to get back to work. He rested some more, ate something that was not hospital food, and called up Tali, further reassuring her that everything was all right and catching her up to the series of events. She was excited to learn that Miranda had finally been contacted, and promised to tell Liara herself. This would give Garrus a break from re-explaining and allow him to complete his recovery in peace.   
He did not mention the Cerberus armor to her. Not yet. After all, there was no real reason to be concerned about it interfering with the plan.

After a few hours of sleep, Garrus got up and tested out his body for aches and pains. They’d already been receding when he’d left the hospital. Now, he felt fairly confident he’d be able to make it through the day without the crutch…providing he didn’t do anything too exciting.

Sitting down to a cleared desk, he polished up his backup armor in preparation to journey out. Some officers only maintained a single suit of armor, content to switch out only the under-dressings for hygiene and deal with the rest on an as-needed basis. Theoretically, if you weren’t shot at too often, this was a perfectly sound strategy. It was easy on the finances, too. Good armor cost quite a few credits, and if you weren’t going to get heavy use out of it, there was no point in owning more than one set. But Garrus didn’t lead a particularly gentle life. He may not be an official officer, but as recent events had proven, he still made enough enemies doing what he did to justify the cost of keeping a second suit.   
Well, technically…a third. He still had most of his armor from Omega. The deep gouges in the gorget were a good reminder that he was lucky to be alive. That he still had work to do. He wasn’t going to wear it ever again, but he couldn’t quite get himself to let go of it, either. Most of the pieces were in need of repair or were years out of date anyway, and tucked away somewhere in the storage closet in his ‘kitchen’. So, he ignored that, dug up his backup suit, and spent a couple hours polishing it and ensuring it was in good condition. He was about to see about putting it on when his door’s buzzer went off. Someone was outside. Someone was… visiting him?

Unsure of what to do, he stood up awkwardly, knocking a pauldron to the floor and wincing at the clatter and sudden movement. He hadn’t ordered anything. People didn’t just come up and…ring the doorbell. Not his doorbell. The whole time he had lived here, the only time it had rung was when a previously scheduled delivery arrived, or when he bumped the buzzer accidentally on his way in. Could it be those twins again? Back to finish the job? That was absurd. This apartment complex wasn’t exactly upscale, but it had a respectable array of security measures. Surely, they wouldn’t risk coming straight here. There was no way they could pull off an assassination undetected—  
The buzzer sounded again.  
Garrus grabbed his handgun, just in case. He approached the door warily, activating its viewscreen. Outside stood a lone female figure, familiar face peering earnestly at the door as she awaited an answer. It was Chloe.  
Garrus let out a breath. Cursing his paranoia, he carefully set down his weapon and opened the door, greeting his friend awkwardly.

“Hi,” He said, fidgeting. He was still in casual clothes, and he was pretty sure his apartment wasn’t looking terribly hospitable. She didn’t seem to notice, though.

“Sorry to disturb you. I—just got off work, and Clara and I have been thinking about you. I brought you a special get-well present from both of us! And something just from me, too. May I enter?” She looked around, as if checking the area for anybody who could be watching. 

Still too surprised to think of saying no, he replied automatically. “Oh, uh. Yes. Come on in. You’re not catching me at my best, I have to admit. Watch out for the—“  
He nudged the fallen pauldron with his toe. “—the debris.” He wasn’t particularly pleased to be suddenly entertaining a guest, to be honest, but something told him she was here for something more important than a get-well-soon gift. 

Chloe stepped around him delicately; clasping the large bag she was carrying and nodding to him. “Thank you. I know you do not generally have visitors, and I would not have intruded did I not believe it to be important. First, though, here—Clara was able to order it from offworld. I’m not sure it’s ripe, but…” She trailed off, pulling a small yellow object in a vacuum locked package from her bag and offering it to him. He took it, astonished.

“I haven’t seen one of these in three years. How the hell did your wife find a tapoi fruit? They’re not even easy to get on Palaven nowadays, and they’re native to most of the planet!”

She shrugged, grinning. “Don’t look at me. Clara is the one with the shopping genius. I just thought it might be nice to have something familiar, after all that hospital food. I know the stuff they’ve got for us levo-amino types is no treat; I can’t imagine what it must be like for our Turian and Quarian patients.”

Garrus laughed. He had to agree with her there. “Thanks. I am definitely thrilled to be away from that cafeteria, no offense.” He put the fruit down carefully, considering it, and then looking back at Chloe.   
“But…that can’t be the main reason you’re here. You could have just given this to me anywhere. You said at the hospital you got my message. Is it something about the plan?”

“Right. I did say that, and that is what I’m here for. First, I’d just like to say: as a doctor, I urge you to stay away from any dangerous activities until you are fully healed. Please don’t take what I’m about to give you as an indication that you should go out and—I don’t know, get into some sort of trouble. As your friend, though… I know you will do what you think you have to. So. I have brought you a containment unit for your sample. It’s medical grade, should be superior to whatever you would have retrieved it in from an evidence locker. It’ll keep your friend safe from any hazards you may encounter along your journey.” She emptied the black bag on her arm, retrieving from it a simple metallic cylinder. “It will most likely be in a testing vial when you find it. Simply slip it in from the top, here. Inside it will be kept at a controlled temperature and protected from shock and impact.”

He nodded, impressed. “Excellent. You… didn’t steal this, did you?”

“I doubt it will be missed. Don’t worry about that.”

Garrus tilted his head, looking at her skeptically. 

“No, Gary, I did not steal it. Have more faith in me, will you?”

Garrus put his hands up in surrender. “All right, all right. Just checking. I don’t want to get halfway to Entemia only to be pulled over for possession of stolen property, you know.”

“About that, actually…”

“You did steal it?”

“No! But I have been thinking. Especially now, with you injured, and with such uncertainly ahead of you…I’d like to come along. To Entemia. I think I mentioned last time we met that my work at Huerta as of late has been…less than fulfilling, to say the least. I don’t agree with the way the higher-ups have conspired to make the hospital into a business. To be frank, I feel like I am no longer making the difference there that I could be. But what you’re doing, this plan, from what you have told me about it? It may be just a small thing, but I would like to offer whatever help I can give you.”

Taken a bit by surprise by the sudden enthusiasm, Garrus leaned back against his desk. “You want to go with me to Entemia? I thought you said you didn’t have the expertise to work on a project like this. Not that I’m not grateful for the support. I’m just surprised. What about your duty here? You have a pretty prestigious job to just up and drop it for some wild gallivant across the stars.”

“It wouldn’t just be ’up and dropping it’, as you say. I’m coming up for sabbatical, actually, and I think this would be a better time than any to take it. I won’t leave Huerta just yet, but I am…enthused, at the opportunity to help you and your friend. I owe you both more than just a silly fruit. You saved my life. I think at the very least I could accompany you to the planet, just to ensure that there were no complications from your surgery, no? And if they could use my help there, all the better for it.”

“Chloe, you know that you don’t owe me anything. I’m sure Shepard would say the same.”

She looked at him fondly, raising an eyebrow. “I know that. But I value you both too much to stand by and do nothing. Besides, I may or may not have hinted to Clara that a certain garden planet in the Traverse would be a nice, quiet place for a second honeymoon…”

Garrus groaned. “Chloe, you are not going to turn a secret laboratory into a hot date spot. Think of your poor wife, will you?”

She giggled. “Oh, don’t be so serious. I wouldn’t do that. Clara’s a work-a-holic, like me. It’s one of the reasons I married her. She’d love a chance to get off the station to somewhere new where she could write her novels in a fresh environment, and we could have a few quiet evenings. I’m not as bad as I sound, Gary, I promise.”

“Well, if you say so…”

“I do!”  
She tucked her empty bag under her arm, looking at him seriously. “But really. If you’re going to be doing this soon, it would be best for you not to travel alone. I know you’re already mostly healed, and you would most likely be absolutely fine by yourself, but taking chances on your own in situations like this can be very dangerous. Just think about it, all right? And take care.”

“Yes, _mother_.”

“Oh, always so sarcastic! Well, I think I’ve said my piece here. I’ll leave you be. Let me know whatever you decide, all right?”

“All right.”

“ _Ciao_ , Gary.”

And with a wave, he let her out of the room.  
He’d certainly have to think about what she proposed. On the one hand, she was right; it was much more logical to travel with another person, for a number of reasons. Single travelers were more conspicuous than groups, and she would be a professional on hand, if an emergency situation did present itself. On the other hand: Was it worth the risk? Exposing a government-operated facility to not just one, but three people who were by no means officially cleared to be there. Not to mention the plan itself. He had never actually met Clara. Would it be wise to allow a stranger this close to their proceedings? If Chloe trusted her, then it was highly unlikely that she’d be a problem. But still. Even just letting them in on this part could be risky. If things went wrong, it wouldn’t just be him in danger, but an innocent couple, as well.  
He decided to figure it out once Miranda gave him the green light. Until then, he still had to get the sample in the first place. And now he had the proper tools to do so.   
Carrying on from where he’d left off when Chloe had arrived, he dressed himself in his armor. It was a little uncomfortable to get on, at first, and his side ached where he had been shot. But soon he was suited up and felt almost back to normal.  
It was time to go to headquarters and get some answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was the fruit really necessary? ....maybe not. But I don't think I'm gonna take it out.
> 
> also pls go listen to road to recovery it's a good song i think...hhhh


	20. Paragon Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANOTHER PUN IN THE TITLE!!! IM HILARIOUS...,,,,,
> 
> (i still can't believe mass effect is an anime. wtf)

Garrus would be lying if he didn’t say he kept a more watchful eye than usual on his surroundings as he made his way to headquarters. It’s not that he believed that someone would be out there trying to kill him at midday on the Presidium, but he was definitely more aware than he had been in years that he wasn’t living the safest life in the galaxy. He still made enemies. And they were still deadly. All the more reason to find them and take them down.  
He exited the elevator to the main floor of HQ, first stopping off at his locker to drop off the containment cylinder and then heading towards his precinct’s office as instructed. It was to be a fairly straightforward visit. Bailey had arranged for a conference with the current Commander, Saish Vaim, to discuss the incident and possible courses of action.   
Vaim had replaced Bailey immediately following his ‘retirement’. She was tall, Turian, and had a very strong philosophy of getting things done in the most efficient way possible, damn all naysayers. No one could deny she was effective. But friendly or considerate? Not so much. Garrus had only seen her a handful of times, but never formally spoken to her. He was unsure of what to expect.   
He entered the conference room, a little apprehensive. To his dismay, Vaim and Bailey were already present. Shit. Never pays to be the last to a party. Not this kind of party.

“Nice of you to join us, Vakarian.” Said Vaim, not looking up from her tablet.   
He’d glanced at a clock just before leaving his apartment. He was certain that he was, in fact, early. Not early enough. All the same, best to play it cool.  
“Captain Bailey. Commander Vaim,” He greeted them. “Let’s deal with this mess, shall we?”

Vaim narrowed her eyes at him approvingly. “That’s what I like to hear. Now, detective, Bailey has filled me in on the general outline of our incident here. He says you’ve been conducting an investigation into pirate activity in the lower wards, and that you have uncovered something interesting enough to get a bullet in the gut for your trouble. Tell me, what makes me think this little smuggling ring of yours is important enough for not only an assassination attempt, but for your Captain here to request that I allocate some of my men to look into it?”

Garrus snapped into soldier mode, forgoing the courtesies and banter he usually enjoyed with his co-workers. This was not the kind of woman who wanted to hear any fluff.  
He explained to both of them the sequence of events, including the discovery of customized Cerberus gear. Vaim remained quiet, asking only a few short questions. Bailey chipped in to add detail once Garrus reached the end of his remembered narrative, adding on a few facts about the events after he had lost consciousness that he hadn’t heard before. 

“…we were able to recover both projectiles from the scenes of the crime, and forensics can tell us that they were indeed fired from separate weapons—much more than that, we can’t say for sure. The brand was generic and could’ve been bought anywhere on or off the station. The micro-slug recovered from the floor of the bootlegger’s shop was definitely from a sniper. This was a professional hit, make no mistake about it. Like Garrus said, we’re not even sure if it’s the pirates at this point, or something bigger. The lack of evidence left behind, the use of stealth…it just doesn’t fit with their M.O.. The smugglers we’ve been seeing here are much more run n’ gun. If we have these people using tactics like this to take our people out, this could be a serious problem, and not just for the Citadel. That’s the primary reason why I think it would be appropriate to organize some sort of task force to assist in this investigation.”

Garrus thought quietly to himself that he was glad they’d been able to identify the fact that he’d been shot at by two separate people. Or, at least, two separate weapons. He hadn’t quite trusted his senses enough at first to believe that there would really be twin assassins gunning for him—blood loss and shock could do funny things to your perception, after all. But this evidence, along with his memory, seemed to corroborate his story. He wasn’t sure if that was comforting or not. Was it better to realize you’d hallucinated, or to have two people out to kill you instead of one? 

Once the story was finished, Vaim stared at Garrus for a second, seeming to calculate the sum of the information she’d been given. She looked back to her tablet, tapped a few keys, and then nodded once.   
“Very well. The information you have presented shows that there’s significant evidence that something of interest in afoot in the lower wards. I’ll authorize a team of my people to work with you in this investigation. We don’t want a lost cache of enemy gear to end up in the wrong hands. Hopefully, we’ll get this sorted out quickly.”

Garrus breathed a sigh of relief. Having the Commander on his side would make this investigation significantly easier. He’d had enough of going at things like this alone for one lifetime.   
“Thank you, Commander.”

“Don’t thank me yet. Garrus, though I know you are still recovering, and as a civilian operative you cannot formally hold a position in our organization, I’d like to appoint you as lead of the task force I am to assemble, considering you are the one who uncovered the need for it in the first place. Is this amenable?”

He inhaled, preparing to vocalize an automatic ‘yes, ma’am’, and then stopped. As important as this was to him, it could wait. He wasn’t here at the station today just for this. He was here for Shepard, too. He’d have to leave the investigation, at least temporarily, in someone else’s hands.

Picking his words carefully, he formed his response.  
“Actually, I have a personal matter that I need to attend to off-station. That was my other purpose in coming here today. I’ll do all I can to assist the investigation, but…I have an obligation. I intended to inform Bailey, as my supervisor, after this meeting.”

“A pity. We could really use your experience here. As the only one thus far to have interacted with members of this rogue cel, you are an invaluable asset to the investigation. I can only hope you will do the responsible thing and return to us once you have fulfilled your obligation.”

 _Ouch, the responsible thing? I was_ shot, _Commander. Have a heart._ “Of course,” Garrus said, silently swallowing the instinctive sarcasm welling up in his throat. He was a consummate professional at pretending to be a consummate professional, after all.

Vaim left the conference chamber, leaving Garrus behind with Bailey to discuss his leave of absence. He still wasn’t sure precisely when he would depart, but he felt sure it would be within the next week. Miranda had said in her last communiqué that she wasn’t far off from Entemia, and that was only about a day ago. He needed to get that sample and go.  
Bailey was surprised at his request for time off. While Garrus was still technically an independent contractor with the precinct, and he wasn’t bound by any necessity to inform the Captain of his actions, he’d always acted in the past as the consummate consultant. Self-contained, effective, and constant, he’d provided his services in an unofficial capacity to c-sec for the past 2 years without pause or upset. He wasn’t sure he’d ever called in for so much as a sick day. That he would request time off for a personal matter, especially now, was extremely unusual. Of course, Bailey asked him why. 

Garrus felt uneasy lying to him. As another former ally of Shepard, he’d seriously considered telling Bailey the truth about the plan. He’d already told Chloe, after all, and the more supporters the plan had, the easier it would be for him to act. It was just…as long as he had worked with the man, he didn’t know him that deeply. He was part of a much larger institution and had loyalties to powers other than the commander. Perhaps he was being overcautious, but he didn’t quite think it was wise to include the whole of an organization like c-sec in a matter this delicate. So: he did not tell him. He didn’t lie, either; just made it clear that it was a _personal matter_ and was nothing to be concerned about. Bailey accepted this and went on his way. As he made his way back to his locker to retrieve the capsule, Garrus noticed the man’s eyes on him as he passed the glass door to his office. Definitely still curious, then. He’d better be careful and quick on the remainder of this outing. He didn’t exactly have clearance to the evidence lockup, and he’d rather no one butt in while he was accessing the panel. No one had expressly said he _didn’t_ have clearance, either, after all. He just had to be sure no one had the chance to say it.

He really should have known that nothing ever works out that easily.

He was using his omni-tool to discreetly hack the security code to lockup (using Bailey’s credentials, actually) when the man himself made his presence known from the end of the hall. No one else was around.

“Just what the hell do you think you’re doing, Vakarian?”   
The Captain stood with a wide stance, arms defiantly crossed. He wasn’t angry yet. Just displeased.

“I got lost looking for the restrooms. Could’ve sworn this was one, but I don’t remember it being quite this secure…”

“Don’t give me that bull. I want an answer. Why are you breaking into Evidence?”  
Okay, now he might be a little mad. Whoops. Sometimes the sass just slipped out.

Disconnecting from the mainframe and turning around, Garrus raised his hands in surrender. “I know what this looks like,” he started. “And it kind of is what it looks like, actually. But I need something from in there. It’s nothing bad, I promise—you know me. I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t think it was completely necessary.”

“Is it something for the investigation? If you need resources, you know you can ask me for them.”

“This isn’t something I thought you’d just hand over. And to be honest, I was rather hoping to keep my acquisition a bit of a secret. This is…separate from the investigation. But Bailey, I need to do this. I can save someone’s life. Let me do this.”

“Who are you trying to save, Garrus?”

He paused, and looked away. It…couldn’t hurt to give him a name. He’d been a friend. Even if he couldn’t know the details, he deserved to know this.

“I’m going to save John Shepard.”

Bailey shook his head, confused and hopeful. Garrus knew the feeling. “Wait. John is alive? Where is he? What—“   
Holding up a hand and moving back to the control panel, Garrus interrupted. “I can’t give you details. And you shouldn’t mention this to anyone. I’m sorry. I know what you’re thinking right now, what you’re feeling, trust me. You might not even believe me, and that’s fine. But I am going to do this.”

He re-activated the control panel, resuming the hack. He felt determination and loss well up in his core.   
“I have to do this.”

He turned his back on the Captain, focusing again on the work in front of him. This was a gamble. If Bailey didn’t believe him, if he tried to stop him—Garrus wouldn’t, in good conscience, be able to do anything about it. Breaking into lockup was one thing. Turning on an ally? Nothing is worth that cost.  
A few seconds passed, and he heard approaching footsteps behind him. His mind spun. This was it. Bailey would stop him. He was going to need to find a backup plan. Some other way to get in, perhaps, or a different DNA sample. There had to be something…  
But when the human arrived by his side, he merely reached over Garrus and deactivated the lock with his security chip. The Turian turned and looked at him, unsure what to say.

“Make this count, Garrus. Don’t prove me wrong.”

They locked eyes for a moment. 

He turned, entering the vault. “I won’t. Thank you.”


End file.
